.^■^:.r- 



f 



i-iiii: 




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/ 



PARKER'S RHETORICAL READER. ^ \ \ 




EXERCISES 



IN 



RHETOEICAL EEADING; 



WITH A SERIES OF 




INTRODUCTORY LESSONS, 



PARTICULARLY DESIGNED TO FAMILIARIZE READERS WaTH THE 

PAUSES AND OTHER MARKS IN GENERAL USE, AND LEAD 

THEM TO THE PRACTICE OF MODULATION AND 

INFLECTION OF THE VOICE. 



BY RICHARD GREEN PARKER, A.M. 

I « 

PRINCIPAL OF THE JOHNSON SCHOOL, BOSTON; AUTHOR OF "AIDS TO ENGLISH 

COMPOSITION." " OUTLINES OF GENERAL HISTORY," " THB SCHOOL 

COMPEND OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHV," &C. 



"Natura Duce. 




\C9 



NEW YORK: 
PLTBLISHED BY A. S. BARNES & CO. 

CINCINNATI: 
H. W. DERBY & CO. 

1849. 



t^"^ 



^-^ 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849, by 

A. S. BARNES & CO., 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Southern District of 

New York. 



Stereotyped by 

HOBART & ROBBINS ; 

NEW ENGLAND TYPE AND STBREOTYPE POUNDBRY, 

BOSTON. 



PREFACE 



The principal difficulty, in teachings the art of Reading, lies in conveying 
to the pupil a clear idea of tone, modulation, and inflection of the voice. If 
the teacher can induce the pupil to inflect his voice at all, he will find little 
difficulty in teaching him to modulate it rightly. Nature directs every one 
in this, in common conversation, with unerring precision. It is only, there- 
fore, by " holding the mirror up to Nature,^' that the teacher can expect to see 
her as she is. Few teachers have not noticed the animation and correctness 
with which even young children will modulate the colloquial parts of their 
story-books. But the same children almost invariably fall into a lifeless, 
monotonous manner, when performing their portioned tasks in their reading- 
books at school. This arises from no want of excellent selections for exer- 
cises in Reading. But a wide distinction is to be drawn between a lesson 
and an exercise. We have many selections abounding in all the beauties of 
taste, learning, and judgment ; which may, with great advantage, be put 
into the hands of the pupil, after he has been taught the art of reading; but 
I have met with none, designed for the general classes of learners, which 
have combined instruction with practice. It has been thought that directions 
for the management of the voice in reading would be lost upon young learn- 
ers, and that they are suitable for them only whose riper powers and more 
matured intellect better fit them for their reception. But it seems to have 
been forgotten, how easily children are taught to imitate. If, in connexion 
with some colloquial sentence, another of less obvious import be given, 
requiring the same modulations and infections of the voice, the child natur- 
ally catches the trne manner of modulating the latter, from the former. It is 
upon this principle of imitation and analogy combined, that many of the 
lessons in this volume are founded. The author has been convinced, by 
experience, in the institution under his charge, that the principle is a good 
one ; and experience, he thinks, does not often deceive. Whether the details 
of the plan are judiciously executed, is for others to decide. 

Such being the plan of the work, the author has thought it inexpedient to 
encumber its pages with rules, definitions, or explanatory details ; because it 
has been fully proved that how simple soever a rule may be, the pupil will 
not readily apply it, unless particularly directed by the teacher ; and if nature 
and analogy vvill direct him to a correct and rhetorical modulation, rules and 
definitions become superfluous. 

A great deficiency in all our reading-books remains to be supplied. The 
1# 



VI PREFACE. 

Spelling-book and the Grammar furnish copious explanations of the pauses 
and other marks used in written language. But there is no elementary 
work, designed for common schools, which affords particular exercises for the 
management of those important marks. The author has endeavored, in the 
first part of this volume, to supply this remarkable defect ; and he believes, 
that, how much soever others may differ from him in the analogies which he 
has traced, in the subsequent lessons, between ^^ the models" and the exer- 
cises under the models, he is justly entitled to the credit of having originated 
the two important principles above mentioned, upon which the plan of the 
work is founded ; and he is encouraged, not only by experience, but by the 
confident opinion of many judicious friends, to whom the plan has been 
unfolded, to believe that this volume, assisted by the familiar explanations 
of the teacher, will serve as a better introduction to the art of Reading 
than a more labored treatise formed on rhetorical rule. A lesson is fir^t 
devoted to each of the respective pauses and other marks, and the pupil is 
then led by progressive steps, in the subsequent lessons, from the simplest 
sentences, requiring little attention to pause, emphasis, or inflection of the 
voice, to those which involve the highest exertions of taste and intellect. 
Lilac Lodge, Dedham, Mass., June^ 1849. 



INTRODUCTION 



As a large portion of this volume is devoted to a consideration of the 
pauses and other marks usually employed in written language, and the 
notice which should be taken of them in the correct and judicious enun- 
ciation of the sentences in which they are respectively used, a few intro- 
ductory remarks respecting their nature and the origin of their names 
may not, perhaps, be deemed superfluous by those who use the book. 

Punctuation is peculiar to the modern languages of Europe. It was 
wholly unknown to the Greeks and Romans ; and the languages of the 
East, although they have certain marks or signs to indicate tones, have 
no regular system of punctuation. The Romans and the Greeks also, 
it is true, had certain points, which, like those of the languages of the 
East, were confined to the delivery and pronunciation of words ; but the 
pauses were indicated by breaking up the matter into lines or para- 
graphs, not by marks resembling those in the modern system of punc- 
tuation. Hence, in the responses of the ancient oracles, which were 
generally written down by the priests and delivered to the inquirers, the 
ambiguity — intentional, doubtless — which the want of punctuation 
caused, saved the credit of the oracle, whether the expected event was 
favorable or unfavorable. As an instance of this kind, may be cited that 
remarkable response which was given on a well known occasion when 
the oracle was consulted with regard to the success of a certain military 
expedition. 

'^Ibis et redibis nunquam peribis in bello." Written, as it was, 
without being pointed, it might be translated either " Thou shalt go, 
and shalt never return, thou shalt perish in battle," or '' Thou shalt go 
and shalt return, thou shalt never perish in battle." The correct trans- 
lation depends on the placing of a comma after the word nunquam, or 
after redibis. 

The invention of the modern system of punctuation has been attrib- 
uted to the Alexandrian grammarian Aristophanes, after whom it was 
improved by succeeding grammarians ; but it was so entirely lost in the 
time of Charlemagne that he found it necessary to have it restored by 
Warnefried and Alcuin. It consisted at first of only one point, used in 
three ways, and sometimes of a stroke, both being formed in several 
ways. But as no particular rules were followed in the use of these signs, 
punctuation was exceedingly uncertain, until the end of the fifteenth 



b INTRODUCTION. 

century, when the learned Venetian printers, the Manutii, increased the 
number of the signs, and established some fixed rules for their applica- 
tion. These were so generally adopted, that we may consider them as 
the inventors of the present method of punctuation ; and although mod- 
ern grammarians have introduced some improvements, nothing but some 
particular rules have been added since that time. 

The design of the system of Manutius was purely grammatical, and 
had no further reference to enunciation, than to remove ambiguity in 
the meaning and to give precision to the sentence. This, therefore, is 
the object of punctuation, and although the marks employed in written 
language may sometimes denote the different pauses and tones of voice 
which the sense and an accurate pronunciation require, yet they are 
more generally designed to mark the grammatical divisions of a sen- 
tence, and to show the dependence and relation of words and members 
which are separated by the intervening clauses. The teacher, therefore, 
who directs his pupils to "mind their pauses in reading,'' gives but an 
unintelligible direction to those who are unversed in the rules of analysis. 
A better direction would be to disregard the pauses, and endeavor to read 
the sentence with just such pauses and tones as they would employ if 
the sentence were their own, and they were uttering it in common con- 
versation. The truth of this remark will abundantly appear by a refer- 
ence to the ninth lesson of this volume, and the directions given in 
relation to the comma. Indeed it is often the case that correct and 
tasteful reading requires pauses, and those too of a considerable length, 
to be made, where such pauses are indicated in written language by no 
mark what<!ver. [See Lesson X.] 

In like manner it will appear, from an inspection of the latter part of 
the ninth lesson, that it is not unfrequently the case that the sense will 
allow no pause whatever to be made in cases where, if the marks alone 
were observed, it would seem that a pause of considerable length is 
required. The pupil, therefore, who has been taught to mind his pauses, 
must first be taught to unlearn this direction, and endeavor to understand 
the sentence which he is to read before he attempts to enunciate it. 

The characters employed in written language are the following : 



The Comma, 


) 


The Hyphen, 




The Semicolon, 


5 


The Breve, 


- 


The Colon, 




The Apostrophe, 


> 


The Period, 






) 


The Dash, 


__ 


The Brace, 


1 


The Exclamation, 


! 


The Acute Accent, 


/ 


The Interrogation, 


? 


The Grave Accent, 


\ 


The Quotation Marks, 


a " 


The Circumflex Accent, 


/\ 


The Diaeresis, 




The Caret, 


A 


The Crotchets, 


( ) 


The Cedilla, 


5 


The Brackets, 


[] 


The Asterisk, 


# 



INTRODUCTION. 



The Obelisk or Dagger, f 

The Double Obelisk or Double j ^ 

The Parallels 

The Ellipsis, sometimes expressed by Periods, thus 
" " sometimes by Hyphens, thus, 
" " sometimes by Asterisks or Stars, thus 
« " sometimes by a Dash prolonged, thus. 



The Section, ^ 

The Paragraph, ^ 



##**#* 



These characters, when judiciously employed, fix the meaning and 
give precision to the signification of sentences, which, in a written form, 
would be ambiguous or indefinite without them. Thus, '• I said that he 
is dishonest it is true and I am sorry for it." Now the meaning of this 
sentence can be ascertained only by a correct punctuation. If it be 
punctuated as follows : " I said that he is dishonest, it is true, and I 
am sorry for it ;" the meaning will be, that it is true that I said he was 
dishonest, and I am sorry that I said so. But if it be punctuated thus, 
" I said that he was dishonest ; it is true ; and I am sorry for it ;" the 
meaning will be, I said that he was dishonest ; it is true that he was 
dishonest, and I am sorry that he was so. 

Again, the following sentence, as here punctuated, is an innocent re- 
mark : '' Believing Richard Brothers to be a prophet sent by God, I have 
painted his portrait." But the sentence as it was originally written by 
its author, with the comma after sent, instead of after God, was a piece 
of horrid profanity. 

A further instance of the importance of correct punctuation was 
afforded by a late advertisement, in which the commissioner for lighting 
one of the most commercial cities of Europe, by the misplacing of a 
comma in his advertisement, would have contracted for the supply of 
but half the required light. The advertisement represented the lamps 
as " 4050 in number, having two spouts each, composed of not less than 
twenty threads of cotton." This expression implied that the lamps had 
each two spouts, and that the two spouts had twenty threads, that is, 
each spout had ten threads. But the meaning that the commissioner 
intended to convey was, that each spout had twenty threads ; and his 
advertisement should have had the comma after '' spouts,^' instead of 
after "cach,^' thus: The lamps have two spouts, each composed of 
twenty threads, &c. 

These instances will sufiice to illustrate the nature and the importance 
of correct punctuation. 

But although the meaning of a sentence is thus materially affected by 
the punctuation, it will be seen in the following lessons that the punc- 
tuation alone is an unsafe guide to follow in the enunciation of any 
collection of words. For, in many cases, these marks indicate no pause, 
emphasis, or other remarkable circumstance requiring notice in the enun- 
ciation of the sentence. [See Lesson IX., latter part.] 

The nature of the marks used in written language may also be under- 
stood by a reference to the origin of their names. 



10 INTRODUCTION. 

The word Comma is derived from the Greek language, and properly 
designates a segment, section, or part cut off' from a complete sentence. 
In its usual acceptation, it signifies the point which marks the smaller 
segments or portions of a period. It therefore represents the shortest 
pause, and consequently marks the least constructive, or most dependent 
parts of a sentence. 

The word colon is from the Greek, and signifies a member, and the 
Latin prefix semi means half. A Semicolon is used for the purpose of 
pointing out those parts of a compound sentence, which, although they 
each constitute a distinct proposition, have yet a dependence upon each 
other, or on some common clause. 

The Colon is used to divide a sentence into two or more parts, which, 
although the sense be complete in each, are not independent. 

The word Feriod is derived from the Greek, and means a circuit. 
When the circuit of the sense is completed, with all its relations, the 
mark bearing this name is used to denote this completion. 

The word Interrogation is derived from the Latin, and means a ques 
tion. 

The word Exclamation is from the same language, and means a pas 
sionate utterance. 

The word Parenthesis is derived from the Greek language, and means 
an insertion. A sentence, clause, or phrase, inserted between the pans 
of another sentence for the purpose of explanation, or of calling particu- 
lar attention, is properly called a parenthesis. 

It is to be remarked, however, that the name parenthesis belongs only 
to the sentence inserted between brackets or crotchets, and not to those 
marks themselves. 

The word Hyphen is derived from the Greek language, and signifies 
under one, that is, together ; and is used to imply that the letters or sylla 
bles between which it is placed are to be taken together as one word. 

The hyphen, when placed over a vowel, to indicate the long sound ot 
the vowel, is called the Macron, from the Greek, signifying l()7ig. 

The mark called a Breve, indicating the short sound of the vowel, is 
from the Latin, signifying short. 

The word Ellipsis, also from the Greek, means an omission, and prop- 
erly refers to the words, the members, or the sentences which are omitted, 
and not to the marks which indicate the omission. 

The word Apostrophe, also from the Greek, signifies the turning arvay, 
or the omission of one letter or more.* 

The word Diceresis is also from the Greek, and signifies the taking 
apart, or the separation of the vowels, which would otherwise be pro- 
nounced as one syllable. 

The term Accent is derived from the Latin language, and implies the 
tone of the voice with which a word or syllable is to be pronounced. 



* The word Apostrophe, as here used, must not be confounded with the same word aa 
the xrvfCiQ of a rhetorical figiire. 



INTRODUCTION. 11 

The word Section, derived also from the Latin, signifies a cutting, or 
a division.. The character which denotes a section seems to be com- 
posed of ss, and to be an abbreviation of the words signum sectionis, or 
the sign of a section. This character, which was formerly used as the 
sign of the division of a discourse, is now rarely used except as a refer- 
ence to a note at the bottom of the page. 

The word Paragraph is derived from the Greek language, and signi- 
fies an ascription in the margin. This mark, like that of the section, 
was formerly used to designate those divisions of a section which are 
now indicated by unfinished lines or blank spaces. This mark, as well 
as the section, is now rarely used except as a reference. 

It may further be remarked, that notes at the bottom of the page, on 
the margin, or at the end of the book, are often indicated by figures, or 
by letters, instead of the marks which have already been enumerated. 

The word Caret is from the Latin, and signifies it is wanting. This 
mark is used only in manuscript. 

The Cedilla is a mark placed under the letters c and g to indicate the 
soft sound of those letters. 

The Asterisk, Obelisk, Double Obelisk, and Parallels, with the section 
and paragraph, ar^ merely arbitrary marks to call attention to the notes 
at the bottom of the page. 

As these marks which have now been enumerated all have a meaning, 
and are employed for some special purpose, it is recommended to the 
teacher never to allow the pupil to pass by them without being assured 
that he or she understands what that purpose is. Correct and tasteful 
reading can never be attained without a full appreciation of the meaning 
which the author intended to convey ; and that meaning is often to be 
ascertained by the arbitrary marks employed for the purpose of giving 
definiteness to an expression. At the same time the teacher should be 
careful that the pupil shall consider these marks as his guide to the 
meaning only, not to the enunciation, of a sentence. Correct delivery 
must be left to the guidance of taste and judgment only. 

In many excellent selections for lessons in reading, the pieces have 
been arranged in regular order, according to the nature of their respective 
subjects, under the heads of Narrative, Descriptive, Didactic, Argument- 
ative and Pathetic pieces. Public Speeches, Promiscuous pieces, the 
Eloquence of the Bar, of the Pulpit, and of the Forum. 

By Narrative pieces is meant those pieces only which contain a simple 
narration. Descriptive pieces are those in which something is described. 
Didactic pieces are those designed to convey some particular kind of 
instruction, whether moral, religious, or scientific. Argumentative 
pieces are those in which some truth is designed to be proved. Pathetic 
pieces are those by which the feelings of pity, love, admiration and other 
passions, are excited. Promiscuous pieces are those which fall under 
none of the classes which have been enumerated, or consist of a mixture 
of those classes. The Eloquence of the Bar consists of speeches (or 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

pleas, as they are technically called) made by distinguished lawyers in 
the courts of justice in favor of or against a supposed criminal. The 
Eloquence of the Pulpit consists of sermons or discourses delivered on 
religious occasions. The Eloquence of the Forum consists in the 
speeches, addresses, orations, &c., addressed to political or promiscuous 
assemblies. 

To many, this information may seem superflu9us or puerile. But as 
this volume is designed for the young and the unlettered, it must not be 
forgotten that their sources of information are few, and that they will 
not always take the pains to inform themselves of the meaning of words, 
even when they are familiar to their eyes in capital letters, and in the 
running titles of the books before them every day. It is often the case, 
that the teacher also, taking for granted that his pupils are famihar with 
the meaning of words so often presented to their eyes, neglects to ques- 
tion them on the subject ; and in riper years it becomes a matter of 
surprise to the pupil himself, that, in early life, words which he had 
heard sounded almost every day at school presented no idea to his mind 
beyond that of an unmeaning, or rather an unintelligible sound. 

The object of all education is not so much to fill the mind with knowl- 
edge as to strengthen its powers, and enlarge its capacity. Those exer- 
cises, therefore, are always most beneficial, in ail education, which tend 
most effectually to this result. There is, perhaps, no branch of study 
connected with popular education, which, when properly pursued, 
is more highly subservient to this end than the study of correct 
and tasteful reading, as an art. It necessarily involves a complete 
knowledge of the subject to be read, the relation and dependences of 
the phrases, clauses, and members of the sentences, the proper mean- 
ing of the words employed, and the connexion between the sentences 
themselves. This cannot be acquired without a vigorous employment 
of the perceptive powers, aided by those of comparison, of analysis, of 
reasoning, of judgment, of taste, and of discrimination. Subordinate 
and auxiliary to the acquisition of this important art, on the part of the 
pupil, it is here recommended that the teacher should exercise also the 
power of classification, by requiring his pupils, while studying a recidiisg 
lesson, (which, by the way, alrvnys should be studied, previous to practis- 
ing it,) to ascertain and to inform his teacher under which of the above 
mentioned classes, whether narrative, descriptive, didactic, &c., the piece 
he is about to read belongs. The teacher who thus employs the faculties 
of his pupils cannot fail to see a vigorous growth of intellect springing 
up under his culture, and will be amply compensated for such mortifica- 
tions as may occasionally arise during formal ezaminaHons, from the 
treachery of the youthful memory, or the want of a proper command 
over its stores. 

One of the best selections of reading lessons which has been in use 
in the common schools of this country is that of Mr. Lindley Murray, 
called '' The English Reader.^' Whether estimated by its moral and 



INTRODUCTION. 



13 



religious tone, or by the taste and beauty of the selections, it must 
equally command the approbation of all to whom the subject of educa- 
tion is consigned. It is true that the compiler had not learnt the modern 
art of selecting from the productions of editors, members of school com- 
mittees, and others, whose vanity might, perhaps, aid the circulation of 
his work, — but he has made ample amends for this kind of neglect, by 
presenting the choicest gems of English hterature, selected from the 
brightest stars of that galaxy famiharly known as the British classics. 
His introductory tract, for many of the observations in which he has 
acknowledged his indebtedness to Dr. Blair and to the Encyclopedia 
Britannica, contains so much valuable instruction on the art of reading, 
that the author of this work is persuaded that he cannot render better 
service than by presenting it entire. Many of the suggestions, it will be 
seen, are followed out in the introductory lessons in this volume; but as 
all information becomes the better ^re«i by repetition, such repetition will, 
to say the least, be pardonable, even though it may be deemed superfluous. 

''OBSERVATIONS ON THE PRINCIPLES OF GOOD READING. 

'' To read with propriety is a pleasing and important attainment ; 
productive of improvement both to the understanding and the heart. It 
is essential to a complete reader, that he minutely perceive the ideas, 
and enter into the feelings of the author, whose sentiments he professes 
to repeat : for how is it possible to represent clearly to others, what we 
have but faint or inaccurate conception of ourselves ? If there were no 
other benefits resulting from the art of reading well, than the necessity 
it lays us under of precisely ascertaining the meaning of what we read, 
and the habit thence acquired of doing this with facility, both when 
reading silently and aloud, they would constitute a sufficient compensa- 
tion for all the labor we can bestow upon the subject. But the pleasure 
derived to ourselves and others from a clear communication of ideas 
and feelings, and the strong and durable impressions made thereby on 
the minds of the reader and the audience, are considerations which give 
additional importance to the study of this necessary and useful art. 
The perfect attainment of it doubtless requires great attention and prac- 
tice, joined to extraordinary natural powers; but as there are many 
degrees of excellence in the art, the student whose aims fall short of 
perfection will find himself amply rewarded for every exertion he may 
think proper to make. 

"To give rules for the management of the voice in reading, by which 
I he necessary pauses, emphasis, and tones, may be discovered and put 
in practice, is not possible. After all the directions that can be offered 
on these points, much will remain to be taught by the living instructer: 
much will be attainable by no other means than the force of example, 
influencing the imitative powers of the learner. Some rules and princi- 
ples on these heads will, however, be found useful, to prevent erroneous 
a id vicious modes of utterance ; to give the young reader some taste 
for the subject ; and to assist him in acquiring a just and accurate mode 
of delivery. The observations which we have to make, for these pur- 
poses, may be comprised under the following heads : Proper Loudness 
of Voice ; Distinctness ; Slowness ; Propriety of Pronunciation ; Emphasis ; 
Tones ; Pauses j and Mode of Reading Verse. 
2 



14 INTRODUCTION. 



"PROPER LOUDNESS OF VOICE. 

" The first attention of every person who reads to others, doubtless, 
must be to make himself heard by all those to whom he reads. He 
must endeavor to fill with his voice the space occupied by the company. 
This power of voice, it may be thought, is wholly a natural talent. It 
is, in a good measure, the gift of nature ; but it may receive considerable 
assistance from art. Much depends, for this purpose, on the proper pitch 
and management of the voice. Every person has three pitches in his 
voice ; the high, the middle, and the low one. The high is that which 
he uses in calling aloud to some person at a distance. The low is when 
he approaches to a whisper. The middle is that which he employs in 
common conversation, and which he should generally use in reading to 
others. For it is a great mistake, to imagine that one must take the 
highest pitch of his voice, in order to be well heard in a large company 
This is confounding two things which are different — loudness or strength 
of sound, with the key or note in which we speak. There is a variety 
of sound within the compass of each key. A speaker may, theretbre, 
render his voice louder, without altering the key ; and we shall always 
be able to give most body, most persevering force of sound, to that pilch 
of voice to which in conversation we are accustomed. Whereas by 
setting out on our highest pitch or key, we certainly allow ourselves less 
compass, and are likely to strain our voice before we have done. We 
shall fatigue ourselves, and read with pain; and whenever a person 
speaks with pain to himself, he is always heard with pain by his 
audience. Let us, therefore, give the voice full strength and swell of 
sound ; but always pitch it on our ordinary speaking key. It should be 
a constant rule never to utter a greater quantity of voice than we can 
afford without pain to ourselves, and without any extraordinary effort. 
As long as we keep within these bounds, the other organs of speech will 
be at liberty to discharge their several offices with ease ; and we shall 
always have our voice under command. But whenever we transgress 
these bounds, we give up the reins, and have no longer any manage- 
ment of it. It is a useful rule too, in order to be well heard, to cast our 
eye on some of the most distant persons in the company, and to con- 
.sider ourselves as reading to them. We naturally and mechanically 
utter our words with such a degree of strength as to make ourselves be 
heard by the person whom we address, provided he is within the reach 
of our voice. As this is the case in conversation, it will hold also in 
reading to others. But let us remember, that in reading, as well as in 
conversation, it is possible to offend by speaking too loud. This extreme 
hurts the ear, by making the voice come upon it in rumbling, indistinct 
masses. 

"By the habit of reading, when young, in a loud and vehement man- 
ner, the voice becomes fixed in a strained and unnatural key ; and is 
rendered incapable of that variety of elevation and depression which 
constitutes the true harmony of utterance, and affords ease to the reader, 
and pleasure to the audience. This unnatural pitch of the voice, and 
disagreeable monotony, are most observable in persons who were taught 
to read in large rooms ; who were accustomed to stand at too great a 
distance, when reading to their teachers ; whose instructers were very 
imperfect in their hearing ; or who were taught by persons who con- 
sidered loud expression as the chief requisite in forming a good reader. 
These are circumstances which demand the serious attention of every 
one to whom the education of youth is committed. 



INTRODUCTION. 



DISTINCTNESS. 



15 



"In the next place, to being well heard and clearly understood, dis- 
tinctness of ariicalation contributes more than mere loudness of sound. 
The quantity of sound necessary to fill even a large space is smaller 
than is commonly imagined ; and, with distinct articulation, a person 
with a weak voice will make it reach further than the strongest voice 
can reach without it. To this, therefore, every reader ought to pay great 
attention. He must give every sound which he utters its due propor- 
tion ; and make every syllable, and even every letter, in the word which 
he pronounces, be heard distinctly: without slurring, whispering, or 
suppressing, any of the proper sounds. 

" An accurate knowledge of the simple, elementary sounds of the lan- 
guage, and a facility in expressing them, are so necessary to distinctness 
of expression, that if the learner's attainments are. in this respect, im- 
perfect, (and many there are in this situation.) it will be incumbent on 
his teacher to carry him back to these primary articulations ; and to 
suspend his progress till he become perfectly master of them. It will 
be in vain to press him forward, with the hope of forming a good reader, 
if he cannot completely articulate every elementary sound of the lan- 
guage. 

"due degree of slowness. 

" In order to express ourselves distinctly, moderation is requisite with 
regard to the speed of pronouncing. Precipitancy of speech confounds 
all articulation, and all meaning. It is scarcely necessary to observe, 
that there may be also an extreme on the opposite side. It is obvious 
that a lifeless, drawling manner of reading, which allows the minds of 
the hearers to be always outrunning the speaker, must render every 
such performance insipid and fatiguing. But the extreme of reading 
too fast is much more common ; and requires the more to be guarded 
against, because, when it has grown into a habit, few errors are more 
difficuh to be corrected. To pronounce with a proper degree of slow- 
ness, and with full and clear articulation, is necessary to be studied by 
all, who wish to become good readers ; and it cannot be too much 
recommended to them. Such a pronunciation gives weight and dignit)'- 
to the subject. It is a great assistance to the voice, by the pauses and 
rests M-hich it allows the reader more easily to make : and it enables the 
reader to swell all his sounds, both with more force and more harmony. 

" PROPRIETY OF PRONUNCIATION. 

" After the fundamental attentions to the pitch and management of 
the voice, to distinct articulation, and to a proper degree of slowness of 
speech, what the young reader must, in the next place, study, is pro- 
priety of pronunciation ; or, giving to every word which he utters that 
sound which the best usage of the language appropriates to it ; in oppo- 
sition to broad, vulgar, or provincial pronunciation. This is requisite 
both for reading intelligibly, and for reading with correctness and ease. 
Instructions concerning this article may be best given by the living 
teacher. But there is one observation, which it may not be improper 
here to make. In the English language, every word which consists of 
more syllables than one has one accenied syllable. The accents rest 
sometimes on the vowel, sometimes on the consonant. The genius of 
the language requires the voice to mark that syllable by a stronger 
percussion, and to pass more slightly over the rest. Now, after we have 



16 INTEODUCTION. 

learned the proper seats of these accents, it is an important rule, to 
give every word just the same accent in reading as in common dis- 
course. Many persons err in this respect. When they read to others 
and with solemnity, they pronounce the syllables in a different manner 
from what they do at other times. They dwell upon them and protract 
them ; they multiply accents on the same word, from a mistaken notion, 
that it gives gravity and importance to their subject, and adds to the 
•energy of their delivery . Whereas this is one of the greatest faults that 
can be committed in pronunciation : it makes what is called a pompous 
or mouthing manner, and gives an artificial, affected air to reading, which 
detracts greatly both from its agreeableness and its impression. 

'' Sheridan and Walker have published dictionaries for ascertaining 
the true and best pronunciation of the words of our language. By 
attentively consuhing them, particularly 'Walker's Pronouncing Dic- 
tionary,' the young reader will be much assisted in his endeavors, to 
attain a correct pronunciation of the words belonging to the English 
language.* 

"emphasis. 

"By emphasis is meant a stronger and fuller sound of voice, by 
which we distinguish some word, or words, on which we design to lay 
particular stress, and to show how they affect the rest of the sentence. 
Sometimes the emphatic words must be distinguished by a particular 
tone of voice, as well as by a particular stress. On the right manage- 
ment of the emphasis depends the life of pronunciation. If no emphasis 
be placed on any words, not only is discourse rendered heavy and life- 
less, but the meaning is often left ambiguous. If the emphasis be 
placed wrong, we pervert and confound the meaning wholly. 

" Emphasis may be divided into the Superior and the Inferior emphasis. 
The superior emphasis determines the meaning of a sentence, with refer- 
ence to something said before, presupposed by the author as general 
knowledge, or removes an ambiguity, where a passage may have more 
senses than one. The inferior emphasis enforces, graces, and enlivens, 
but does not^.r, the meaning of any passage. The words to which this 
latter emphasis is given are, in general, such as seem the most import- 
ant in the sentence, or, on other accounts, to merit this distinction. The 
following passage will serve to exemplify the superior emphasis. 

' Of man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree, whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the world, and all our woe,' &c. 

' Sing, heavenly Muse ! ' 

" Supposing that originally other beings besides men had disobeyed 
the commands of the Almighty, and that the circumstance were well 
known to us, there would fall an emphasis upon the word marl's in the 
first line ; and hence it would read thus : 

' Of marl's first disobedience, and the fruit,' &c. 

" But if it were a notorious truth, that mankind had transgressed in 



* This remark must now be received, in this country at least, with some qualification. 
The best dictionary that we have at the present day is undoubtedly that of Mr. Worces- 
ter, a gentleman to whose accuracy, fidelity, and industry, the cause of education is 
much indebted. His dictionary, in the opinion of the author of this work, is the moat 
comprehensive, as well as the safest guide, that has yet been published. 



INTaODUCTION. 17 

a peculiar manner more than once, the emphasis would fall on first ; 
and the line be read, 

' Of man's first disobedience,' &c, 

" Again, admitting death (as was really the case) to have been an 
unheard-of and dreadful punishment, brought upon man in consequence 
of his transgression ; on that supposition, the third hne would be read, 

' Brought death into the world,' &c. 

'•' But if we were to suppose that mankind knew there was such an evil 
as death in other regions, though the place they inhabited had been free 
from it till their transgression, the line would run thus : 
' Brought death into the world,' &c. 

'' The superior emphasis finds place in the follo-ning short sentence, 
which admits of four distinct meanings, each of which is ascertained by 
the emphasis only. 

' Do you ride to town to-day 7 ' 

[See Lesson XXII] 

" The following examples illustrate the nature and use of the inferior 
emphasis : 

" -'Many persons mistake the love, for the practice of virtue.' 

'* ' Shall I reward his services with Falsehood ? Shall I forget him who 
cannot forget meV 

" ' If his principles are false, no apology from himself can make them 
right ; if founded in truth, no censure from others can make them 
wrong.' 

" ' Though deep, yet dear; though ^eTi^Ze, yet not dull; 
Slrono- without rage; without o'erfioicing; full.' 

"'A friend exaggerates a man's virtues ; an enemy, his crimes.' 

" ' The jrise man is happy when he gains his own approbation ; the 
fool, When he gains that of others.^ 

'•The superior emphasis, in reading as in speaking, must be deter- 
mined entirely by the sense of the passage, and always made alike ; but 
as to the inferior emphasis, taste alone seems to have the right of fixing 
its situation and quantity. 

'- Among the number of persons who have had proper opportunities 
of learning to read, in the best manner it is now taught, very few could 
be selected, who. in a given instance, would use the inferior emphasis 
ahke. either as to place or quantity. Some persons, indeed, use scarcely 
any degree of it ; and others do not scruple to carry it far beyond any- 
thing to be found in common discourse ; and even sometimes throw it 
upon words so very trifling in themselves, that it is evidently done with 
no other view than to give a greater variety to the modulation.* Not- 
withstanding this diversity of practice, there are certainly proper bounda- 
ries, within which this emphasis must be restrained, in order to make it 
meet the approbation of sound judgment and correct taste. It will, 
doubtless, have different degrees of exertion, according to the greater or 

* By modulation is meant, that pleasing variety of voice which is perceived in utter- 
ing a sentence, and which in its nature is perfectly distinct from emphasis, and the 
tones of emotion and passion. The young reader should be careful to render his modu- 
lation correct and easy ; and, for this ptxrpose, should form it upon the model of the most 
judicious and accurate speakers. 

2^ 



18 INTRODUCTION. 

less degree of importance of the words upon which it operates ; and 
there may be very properly some variety in the use of it : but its appli- 
cation is not arbitrary, depending on the caprice of readers. 

" As emphasis often falls on words in different parts of the same sen- 
tence, so it is frequently required to be continued, with a little variation, 
on two, and sometimes more words together. The following sentences 
exemplify both the parts of this position : ' If you seek to make one 
rich, study not to increase his stores, but to diminish his desires.'' 'The 
Mexican figures, or picture-writing, represent things, not words : they 
exhibit images to the eye, not ideas to the understanding." 

" Some sentences are so full and comprehensive, that almost every 
word is emphatical: as, 'Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and 
plains ! ' or, as that pathetic expostulation in,the prophecy of Ezekiel, 
*■ Why will ye die ! ' 

"Emphasis, besides its other offices, is the great regulator of quantity. 
Though the quantity of our syllables is fixed, in words separately pro- 
nounced, yet it is mutable when these words are arranged in sentences ; 
the long being changed into short, the short into long, according to the 
importance of the word with regard to meaning. Emphasis also, in 
particular cases, alters the seat of the accent. This is demonstrable 
from the following examples. 'He shall i?icrease, but I shall (decrease.' 
' There is a difference between giving and /orgiving.' ' In this species 
of composition, plaus\h\\i\.y is much more essential than jjroiability.' 
In these examples, the emphasis requires the accent to be placed on 
syllables to which it does not commonly belong. 

"In order to acquire the proper management of the emphasis, the 
great rule to be given is, that the reader study to attain a just conception 
of tho force and spirit of the sentiments which he is to pronounce. For 
to lay the emphasis with exact propriety is a constant exercise of good 
sense and attention. It is far from being an inconsiderable attainrnent. 
It is one of the most decisive trials of a true and just taste ; and must 
arise from feeling delicately ourselves, and from judging accurately of 
what is fittest to strike the feehngs of others. 

" There is one error, against which it is particularly proper to caution 
the learner ; namely, that of multiplying emphatical words too much, 
and using the emphasis indiscriminately. It is only by a prudent 
reserve and distinction in the use of them, that we can give them any 
weight. If they recur too often ; if a reader attempts to render every 
thing he expresses of high importance, by a multitude of strong em- 
phases, we soon learn to pay little regard to them. To crowd every 
sentence with emphatical words, is like crowding all the pages of a book 
with Italic characters ; which, as to the effect, is just the same as to use 
no such distinctions at all. 



" Tones are different both from emphasis and pauses ; consisting m 
the notes or variations of sound which we employ in the expression of 
our sentiments. Emphasis affects particular words and phrases, with a 
degree of tone or inflection of voice ; but tones, peculiarly so called, 
affect sentences, paragraphs, and sometimes even the whole of a dis- 
course. 

" To show the use and necessity of tones, we need only observe, that 
the mind, in communicating its ideas, is in a constant state of activity, 
emotion, or agitation, from the different effects which those ideas pro- 



INTRODUCTION. J9 

duce in the speaker. Now the end of such communication being not 
merely to lay open the ideas, but also the different feelings which they 
excite in him that utters them, there must be other signs than words to 
manifest those feelings ; as words uttered in a monotonous manner can 
represent only a similar state of mind, perfectly free from all activity 
and emotion. As the communication of these internal feelings was of 
much more consequence in our social intercourse than the mere con- 
veyance of ideas, the Author of our being did not, as in that convey- 
ance, leave the invention of the language of emotion to man, but 
impressed it himself upon our nature, in the same manner as he has 
done with regard to the rest of the animal world ; all of which express 
their feelings by various tones. Ours, indeed, from the superior rank 
that we hold, are in a high degree more comprehensive ; as there is not 
an act of the mind, an exertion of the fancy, or an emotion of the heart, 
which has not its peculiar tone or note of the voice, by which it is to be 
expressed ; and which is suited exactly to the degree of internal feeling. 
It is chiefly in the proper use of these tones, that the life, spirit, beauty, 
and harmony of delivery consist. 

'' The limits of this introduction do not admit of examples to illustrate 
the variety of tones belonging to the different passions and emotions. 
We shall, however, select one, which is extracted from the beautiful 
lamentation of David over Saul and Jonathan ; and which will in some 
degree elucidate what has been said on this subject. 

" ' The beauty of Israel is slain upon thy high places ; how are the 
mighty fallen ! Tell it not in Gath ; publish it not in the streets of 
Askelon ; lest the daughters of the PhiUstines rejoice ; lest the daugh- 
ters of the uncircumcised triumph. Ye mountains of Gilboa, let there 
be no dew nor rain upon you, nor fields of offerings ; for there the shield 
of the mighty was vilely cast away ■ the shield of Saul, as though he 
had not been anointed with oil.' The first of these divisions expresses 
sorrow and lamentation ; therefore the note is low. The next contains 
a spirited command, and should be pronounced much higher. The other 
sentence, in which he makes a pathetic address to the mountains where 
his friends had been slain, must be expressed in a note quite different 
from the two former ; not so low as the first, nor so high as the second, 
but in a manly, firm, yet plaintive tone. 

" The correct and natural language of the emotions is not so difficult 
to be attained as most readers seem to imagine. If we enter into the 
spirit of the author's sentiments, as well as into the meaning of his 
words, we shall not fail to deUver the words in properly varied tones. 
For there are few people who speak English without a provincial note, 
that have not an accurate use of tones, when they utter their sentiments 
in earnest discourse. And the reason that they have not the same use 
of them in reading aloud the sentiments of others may be traced to the 
very defective and erroneous method in which the art of reading is 
taught ; whereby all the various, natural, expressive tones of speech are 
suppressed, and a few artificial, unmeaning reading notes are substi- 
tuted for them. 

" But when we recommend to readers an attention to the tone and 
language of emotions, we must be understood to do it with proper lim- 
itation. Moderation is necessary in this point, as in other things. For 
when the reading becomes strictly imitative, it assumes a theatrical 
manner, and must be highly improper, as well as give offence to the 
hearers, because it is inconsistent with that delicacy and modesty which 



k 



20 INTRODUCTION. 

are indispensable on such occasions. The speaker who delivers his own 
emotions must be supposed to be more vivid and animated than would 
be proper in the person who relates them at second hand. 

«' We shall conclude this section with the following rule for the tones 
that indicate the passions and emotions : ' In reading, let all your tones 
of expression be borrowed from those of common speech, but, in some 
degree, more faintly characterized. Let those tones which signify any 
disagreeable passion of the mind be still more faint than those which 
indicate agreeable emotions : and on all occasions preserve yourselves 
from being so far affected with the subject as to be unable to proceed 
through it with that easy and masterly manner which has its good 
effects in this, as well as in every other art.' 



'' Pauses or rests, in reading or speaking, are a total cessation of the 
voice, during a perceptible, and, in many cases, a measurable space of 
time. Pauses are equally necessary to the speaker and the hearer. To 
the speaker, that he may take breath, without which he cannot proceed 
far in delivery ; and that he may, by these temporary rests, relieve the 
organs of speech, which otherwise would be soon tired by continued 
action ; to the hearer, that the ear also may be relieved from the fatigue 
which it would otherwise endure from a continuity of sound ; and that 
the understanding ma\' have suiiicient time to mark the distinction of 
sentences, and their several members. 

'' There are two kinds of pauses : first, emphatical pauses ; and next, 
such as mark the distinctions of sense. An emphatical pause is gener- 
ally made after something has been said of peculiar moment, and on 
which we desire to fix the hearers attention. Sometimes, before, such a 
thing is said, we usher it in with a pause of this nature. Such pauses 
have the same effect as a strong emphasis ; and are subject to the same 
rules, especially to the caution of not repeating them too frequently. 
For as they excite uncommon attention, and of course raise expectation, 
if the importance of the matter be not fully answerable to such expect- 
ation, they occasion disappointment and disgust. 

" But the most frequent and principal use of pauses is to mark the 
divisions of the sense, and at the same time to allow the reader to draw 
his breath ; and the proper and delicate adjustment of such pauses is 
one of the most nice and difficult articles of delivery. In all reading, 
the management of the breath requires a good deal of care, so as not to 
oblige us to divide words from one another, which have so intimate a 
connexion that they ought to be pronounced with the same breath, and 
without the least separation. Many a sentence is miserably mangled, 
and the force of the emphasis totally lost, by divisions being made in the 
wrong place. To avoid this, every one, while he is reading, should be 
very careful to provide a full supply of breath for what he is to utter. 
It is a great mistake to imagine that the breath must -be drawn only at 
the end of a period, when the voice is allowed to fall. It may easily be 
gathered at the intervals of the period, when the voice is suspended only 
for a moment ; and, by this management, one may always have a sulfi- 
cient stock for carrying on the longest sentence, without improper inter- 
ruptions. 

-' Pauses in reading must generally be formed upon the manner in 
which we utter ourselves in ordinary, sensible conversation, and not 
upon the stiff, artificial manner which is acquired from reading books 



INTRODUCTION. 



21 



according to the common punctuation. It will by no means be sufficient 
to attend to the points used in printing, for these are far from marking 
all the pauses which ought to be made in reading. j4 mechanical atten- 
tion to these resting places has perhaps been one cause of monotony, by 
leading the reader to a similar tone at every stop, and a uniform cadence 
at every period. The primary use of points is to assist the reader in 
divscerning the grammatical construction ; and it is only as a secondary 
object that they regulate his pronunciation. On this head the following 
direction may be of use : ' Though in reading great attention should be 
paid to the stops, yet a greater should be given to the sense, and their 
correspondent times occasionally lengthened beyond what is usual in 
common speech.' 

'•To render pauses pleasing and expressive, they must not only be 
made in the right place, but also accompanied with a proper tone of 
voice, by which the nature of these pauses is intimated ; much more 
than by the length of them, which can seldom be exactly measured. 
Sometimes it is only a slight and simple suspension of voice that is 
proper ; sometimes a degree of cadence in the voice is required ; and 
sometimes that peculiar tone and cadence which denote the sentence to 
be finished. In all these cases, we are to regulate ourselves by attend- 
ing to the manner in which nature teaches us to speak when engaged in 
real and earnest discourse with others. The following sentence exem- 
plifies the suspending and the closing pauses : ' Hope, the balm of life, 
soothes as under every misfortune.' The first and second pauses are 
accompanied by an inflection of voice, that gives the hearer an expecta- 
tion of something further to complete the sense ; the inflection attending 
the third pause signifies that the sense is completed. 

"The preceding example is an illustration of the suspending pause, in 
its simple state : the following instance exhibits that pause with a degree 
of cadence in the voice ; ' If content cannot remove the disquietudes of 
mankind, it will at least alleviate them.' 

" The suspending pause is often, in the same sentence, attended with 
both the rising and the falling inflection of voice ; as will be seen in this 
example: 'Moderate exercise\ and habitual temperance', strengthen 
the constitution.' * 

" As the suspending pause may be thus attended with both the rising 
and the falling inflection, it is the same with regard to the closing pause : 
it admits of both. The falling inflection generally accompanies it ; but 
it is not unfrequently connected with the rising inflection. Interrogative 
sentences, for instance, are often terminated in this manner : as, ' Am I 
ungrateful' ? ' < Is he in earnest' ? ' 

" But where a sentence is begun by an interrogative pronoun or ad- 
verb, it is commonly terminated by the falHng inflection : as, ' What has 
he gained by his folly' ? ' < Who will assist him' ? ' ' Where is the mes- 
senger' ? ' ' When did he arrive' ? ' 

'' When two questions are united in one sentence, and connected by 
the conjunction or, the first takes the rising, the second the falling in- 
flection : as, ' Does his conduct support discipline' or destroy it'? ' 

"The rising and falhng inflections must not be confounded with 
emphasis. Though they may often coincide, they are, in their nature, 
perfectly distinct. Emphasis sometimes controls those inflections. 

" The regular application of the rising and falling inflections confers 

* The rising inflection is denoted by the acute, the falling by the grave, accent. 



k 



22 INTRODUCTION. 

SO much beauty on expression, and is so necessary to be studied by 
the young reader, that we shall insert a few more examples, to induce 
him to pay greater attention to the subject. In these instances, all 
the inflections are not marked. Such only are distinguished as are 
most striking, and will best serve to show the reader their utility and 
importance. 

" ' Manufactures^ trade\ and agriculture', certainly employ more than 
nineteen parts in twenty of the human species.' 

'' ' He who resigns the world has no temptation to envy', hatred\ 
malice\ anger'; but is in constant possession of a serene mind: he 
who follows the pleasures of it, which are in their very nature dis- 
appointing, is in constant search of care\ solicitude', remorse', and con- 
fusion\' 

" ' To advise the ignorant\ relieve the needy\ comfort the afflicted', 
are duties that fall in our way almost every day of our lives.' 

" 'Those evil spirits, who, by long custom, have contracted in the body 
habits of lusf and sensuality^; malice' and revenge''; an aversion to 
everything that is good^ just^ and laudable', are naturally seasoned and 
prepared for pain and misery.' 

"'I am persuaded, that neither death', nor life^ ; nor angels', nor 
principalities', nor powers'*; nor things present', nor thing's to come^; nor 
height', nor depth^ ; nor any other creature', shall be able to separate us 
from the love of Grod\' 

"The reader who would wish to see a minute and ingenious investi- 
gation of the nature of these inflections, and the rules by which they 
are governed, may consult Walker's Elements of Elocution. 

"MANNER OF READING VERSE. 

« When we are reading verse, there is a peculiar difficulty in making 
thie pauses justly. The difficulty arises from the melody of verse, which 
dictates to the ear pauses or rests of its own ; and to adjust and com- 
pound these properly with the pauses of the sense, so as neither to hurt 
the ear nor ofiend the understanding, is so very nice a matter, that it is 
no wonder we so seldom meet with good readers of poetry. There are_ 
two kinds of pauses that belong to the melody of verse : one is the pause' 
at the end of the line ; and the other, the caesural pause in or near the 
middle of it. With regard to the pause at the end of the line, which 
marks that strain or verse to be finished, rhyme renders this always sen- 
sible, and in some measure compels us to observe it in our pronuncia- 
tion. In respect to blank verse, we ought also to read it so as to make 
every line sensible to the ear ; for, what is the use of melody, or for what 
end has the poet composed in verse, if, in reading his lines, we suppress 
his numbers, by omitting the final pause ; and degrade them, by our 
pronunciation, into mere prose ? At the same time that we attend to 
this pause, every appearance of sing-song and tone must be carefully 
guarded against. The close of the line, where it makes no pause in 
the meaning, ought not to be marked by such a tone as is used in 
finishing a sentence; but, without either fall or elevation of the voice, 
it should be denoted only by so slight a suspension of sound as may 
distinguish the passage from one line to another, without injuring the 
meaning. 

" The other kind of melodious pause is that which falls somewhere 
about the middle of the verse, and divides it into two hemistichs ; a 
pause not so great as that which belongs to the close of the hne, but 



INTRODUCTION. 23 

Still sensible to an ordinary ear. This, which is called the csesural 
pause, may fall, in English heroic verse, after the fourth, fifth, sixth, or 
seventh, syllable in the line. Where the verse is so constructed that 
this caesural pause coincides with the slightest pause or division in the 
sense, the line can be read easily j as in the two first verses of Pope's 
Messiah : 

' Ye nymphs of Solyma'^^ ! begin the song ; 
To heavenly themes^^ sublimer strains belong.' 

But if it should happen that words which have so strict and intimate a 
connexion as not to bear even a momentary separation are divided from 
one another by this caesura! pause, we then feel a sort of struggle between 
the sense and the sound, which renders it ditficult to read such lines 
harmoniously. The rule of proper pronunciation in such cases is, to 
regard only the pause which the sense forms, and to read the line 
accordingly. The neglect of the caesural pause may make the Hne 
sound somewhat unharmoniously ; but the efiect would be much worse, 
if the sense were sacrificed to the sound. For instance, in the following 
lines of Milton, 



What in me is dark, 



Illumine ; what is low, raise and support,' 

the sense clearly dictates the pause after illumine, at the end of the third 
syllable, which, in reading, ought to be made accordingly ; though, if 
the melody only were to be regarded, illumine should be connected with 
what follows, and the pause not made till the fourth or sixth syllable. 
So m the following line of Pope's Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, 

' I sit, with sad civility I read,' 

the ear plainly points out the caesural pause as falling after sad, the fourth 
syllable. But it would be very bad reading to make any pause there, 
so as to separate sad and civility. The sense admits of no other pause 
than after the second syllable, sit, which therefore must be the only pause 
made in reading this part of the sentence. 

" There is another mode of dividing some verses, by introducing what 
may be called demi-csesuras, which require very slight pauses; and 
which the reader should manage with judgment, or he will be apt to fall 
into an affected, sing-song mode of pronouncing verses of this kind. The 
following lines exemplify the demi-csesura. 

' Warms' in the sun", refreshes' in the breeze, 
Glows' in the stars", and blossoms' in the trees : 
Lives' through all life" ; extends' through all extent, 
Spreads' undivided", operates' unspent.' 

" Before the conclusion of this introduction, the compiler takes the 
liberty to recommend to teachers to exercise their pupils in discovering 
and explaining the emphatic words, and the proper tones and pauses, 
of every portion assigned them to read, previously to their being called 
out to the performance. These preparatory lessons, in which they should 
be regularly examined, will improve their judgment and taste, prevent 
the practice of reading without attention to the subject, and estabhsh a 
habit of readily discovering the meaning, force, and beauty, of every 
sentence they peruse." 



1*4 INTRODUCTION. 

To the directions of Mr. Murray which have now been recited, the 
author of this work has little to add, except the suggestions which are 
given in the respective lessons which follow. One direction more, how 
ever, he will add, which is partly expressed in borrowed language • 

"Learn to speak slow ; all other graces 
Will follow in their proper places ;" 
And while thus slowly onward you proceed, 
Study the meaning of whate'er you read. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS 



LESSON I. 

THE PERIOD. 
The Period is a round dot or mark like this • 

2. The period is generally placed after the last word in a 
sentence, 

3. When you come to a period, you must stop, as if you 
had nothing more to read. 

4. You must pronounce the word which is immediately 
before a period, with the falling inflection of the voice. 

5. But you do not know what I mean by the failing in- 
flection of the voice. 

6. I am now going to tell you. 

7. Listen attentively to what I am going to say. 

8. Charles has bought a new hat. 

9. That sentence was read with the falling inflection of 
the voice. 

10. I am going to tell you in the next lesson what I mean 
by the rising inflection of the voice. 

11. Look in the next lesson, and find the eighth sentence, 
which you have just read. 

12. Tell me whether you would read it m the same man- 
ner in the second lesson. 

3 



26 



INTRODUCTOHy LESSONS. 



LESSON II. 

THE INTERROGATION POINT, OR QUESTION. 

The Interrogation Point, or Question, is a mark like 
this ? 

The interrogation point, or question, shoios that a 
question is asked, and is generally read with the rising 
inflection of the voice. 

EXAMPLES. 

13. Has Charles bought a new hat ? 

14. Did you say that Charles has bought a new hat? 

15. Did you read the thirteenth sentence in the same 
manner that you read the eighth? 

16. Do you know what I mean by the rising inflection of 
the voice ? 

17. Do you know now how to read a sentence with the 
falling inflection of the voice ? 

18. Shall I tell you again? Will you listen attentively? 

19. Are the little marks after the sentences in the first 
lesson, like those at the end of the sentences in this lesson? 

20. Do you know that you have read all the sentences in 
this lesson with the rising inflection of the voice? 

21. Will you look at the following sentences, and read 
those which are marked D, with the falling inflection of the 
voice, and those which are marked Q,, with the rising in- 
flection of the voice? 

22. D. John has arrived. 
Has John arrived ? 
My father is very well. 
Is your mother well ? 
Mary has lost her book. 
Has Caroline found her work-box? 
They who have not read these sentences well 

must read them over again. 

29. Q. May they who have read them well proceed to 
the next lesson ? 

30. D. As soon as they understand what they have read, 
I shall give them a new lesson. 

31. Q,. Will they all be as easy as this? 



23. 


a. 


24. 


D. 


25. 


a. 


26. 


D. 


27. 


a. 


28. 


D. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 27 

32. D. That will depend upon yourself more than 
on me. 

33. Q,. Does the D in the above sentences stand for a 
declaration? 

34. D. Yes. I think, also, that the Q stands for a 
question. 



LESSON III. 

Sometimes the sentence which ends with an interrogation 
point, should be read with the falling inflection of the voice. 

EXAMPLES. 

35. What o'clock is it ? 

36. How do you do to-day 1 

37. What have you in your hand 1 

38. Where have you been ? 

39. When did your father return home? 

40. How did you hear that story ? 

41. How much did he give for his book? 

42. Whose hat is that in the entry ? 

43. What did you see in the street? 

44. How high is the steeple of St. Paul's Church? 

45. Where does that man live? 

46. Which of those books do you prefer ? 

47. Who is that at the other end of the room? 

48. Whither is that bird flying? 

49. Why did you leave your place just now? 

50. Wherefore do you not try to read correctly ? 



LESSON IV. 

Sometimes the first part of a sentence ending with an 
it^terrogation pointy must he read with the rising inflection 
of the voice, and the last part with the falling inflection. 
The parts of the sentence are separated hy a mark like 
this (,) called a comma. At the comma the rising inflec- 



28 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



tion must be used, and at the interrogation point tJie falling 
inflection. 

EXAMPLES. 

51. Shall I give you a peach, or an apple? 

52. Would you rather have a kite, or a football? 

53. Is that John, or Charles ? 

54. Are you going home, or into the school-house ? 

55. Will you go now, or will you stay a little longer 1 

56. Is that a Grammar, or a Geography ? 

57. Do you expect to ride, or to walk ? 

58. Does your father intend to build his new house in 
the city, or in the country ? 

59. Shall we now attend to our reading lessons, or to our 
lessons in spelling ? 

60. Did you go to church on the last Sabbath, or did you 
stay at home ? 



LESSON V. 

Sometimes the first part of a sentence ending with a 
note of interrogation, must be read with the falling inflec' 
tion of the voice, and the last part with the rising inflec- 
tion. 

EXAMPLES. 

61. Where have you been to-day? At home ? 

62. Whose books are those on the floor ? Do they be- 
long to John ? 

63. Whither shall I go ? Shall I return home ? 

64. What is that on the top of the house ? Is it a bird ? 

65. What are you doing with your book ? Are you tear- 
ing out the leaves? 

66. Whom shall I send? Will John go willingly ? 

67. When shall I bring you those books ? Would you 
like to have them to-day ? 

68. Who told you to return ? Did your father ? 

69. How much did you pay for that book ? More than 
three shillings ? 

70. How old shall you be on your next birthday? 
Eleven ? 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS, 29 

71. Why did you not arrive sooner ? Were you neces- 
sarily detained 1 

72. How often shall my brother sin against me, and I for- 
give him ] Till seven times 1 

73. But what excuse can the Englishman plead ? The 
custom of duelling 1 

74. What concern they 7 The general cause ? 

75. How many lessons are there in this book ? Are there 
more than twenty-five 1 



LESSON VI. 

In this lesson some of the sentences are questions requir- 
ing the rising, and some the falling, inflection of the voice. 
Afeio sentences also ending with a period are inserted. 
No directions are given to the pupil loith regard to the 
manner of reading them, it being desirable that his own 
understanding , under the guidance of nature alone, should 
direct him. But it may be observed that questions which 
can be answered by yes, or no, generally require the rising 
inflection of the voice ; and that questions which cannot be 
ansivered by yes, or no, generally require the falling in- 
flection. - 

EXAMPLES. 

76. John, where have you been this morning ? 

77. Have you seen my father to-day. 

78. That is a beautiful top. 

79. Where did you get it ? 

80. I bought it at the toy-shop. 

81. What did you give for it? 

82. I gave a shilling for it. 

83. What excuse have you for coming late this morning? 
Did you not know that it is past the school hour 1 

84. If you are so inattentive to your lessons, do you think 
that you shall make much improvement 1 

85. Will you go, or stay? Will you ride, or walk ? 

86. Will you go to-day, or to-morrow ? 

87. Did he resemble his father, or his mother? 

88. Is this book yours, or mine ? 

89. Do you hold the watch to-night ? We do, sir. 

3# 



30 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



90. Did you say that he was armed ? He was armed. 

91. Did you not speak to it ? I did. 

92. Art thou he that should come, or must we expect 
anotlier person 1 

93. Why are you so silent ? Have you nothing to say ? 

94. Who hath believed our report ? To whom hath the 
arm of the Lord been revealed 1 



LESSON VII. 

THE EXCLAMATION POINT 

The Exclamation Point is a mark like this ! 

The exclamation point is placed at the end of sentences 
which express surprise, astonishment, wonder, or admiration, 
and other strong feelings ; and such sentences are generally 
read with the falling inflection of the voice. 

EXAMPLES. 

95. How cold it is to-day ! 

96. What a beautiful top that is ! 

97. How mysterious are the ways of Providence ! 

98. How noisy those boys are in the street ! 

99. What a simple fellow he is to spend his money so 
uselessly ! 

100. Poor fellow, he does not know what to do with 
himself! 

101. What a fine morning it is ! How brightly the sun 
shines ! How verdant is the landscape ! How sweetly the 
birds sing ! 

102. Look here ! See what a handsome doll my mother 
has just given me ! 

103. Good Heaven! What an eventful life was hers ! 

104. Good friends! sweet friends! let me not stir you 
up to such a sudden flood of mutiny ! 

105. Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen ! 

106. Oh disgrace upon manhood ! It is strange ! It is 
dreadful ! 

107. Alas, poor country, almost afraid to know itself! 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 3J 

108. Oh glory ! glory ! mighty one on earth ! How just- 
ly imaged in this waterfall ! 

109. Tremendous torrent ! for an instant hush the terrors 
of thy voice ! 

110. Ah, terribly the hoarse and rapid whirlpools rage 
there ! 

111. Oh! deep enchanting prelude to repose! The dawn 
of bliss, the twilight of our woes ! 

112. Daughter of Faith, awake ! arise ! illume the dread 
unknown, the chaos of the tomb ! 

113. It is a dread and awful thing to die ! 

114. Lovely art thou, oh Peace! and lovely are thy chil- 
dren, and lovely are the prints of thy footsteps in the green 
valleys ! 

115. Why, here comes my father ! How quickly he has 
returned ! Oh how glad I am to see him ! 



LESSON VIll. 

THE PERIOD, INTERROGATION, AND EX- 
CLAMATION UNITED. 

The pupil was taught, in the first lesson, (see No. 3,) that when he 
comes to a period, he must stop, as if he had nothing more to read. At 
the end of a paragraph, whether the period or any other mark be used, 
a longer pause should be made than at the end of an ordinary sentence. 
The interrogation and the eocclamation points generally require pauses 
of the same length with the period. 

It may here be remarked, that good readers alivays make their 
PAUSES LONG ; but whatever be the length of the pause, the pupil must be 
careful that every pause which he makes shall be a total cessation of 

THE VOICE. 

examples. 

116. George is a good boy. He gets his lesson well. He 
is attentive to the instructions of his teacher. He is orderly 
and quiet at home. 

117. A good scholar is known by his obedience to the 
rules of the school. He obeys the directions of his teacher. 
His attendance at the proper time of school is always punc- 



32 INTRODUCTORy LESSONS. 

tual. He is remarkable for his diligence and attention. He 
reads no other book than that which he is desired to read by 
his master. He studies no lessons but those which are ap- 
pointed for the day. He takes no toys from his pocket to 
amuse himself or others. He pays no regard to those who 
attempt to divert his attention from his book. 

118. Do you know who is a good scholar? Can you 
point out many in this room ? How negligent some of our 
fellow-pupils are ! Ah ! I am afraid that many will regret 
that they have not improved their time 1 

119. Why, here comes Charles 1 Did you think that he 
would return so soon ? I suspect that he has not been 
pleased with his visit. Have you, Charles? And were your 
friends glad to see you? When is cousin Jane to be mar- 
ried ? Will she make us a visit before she is married ? Or 
will she wait until she has changed her name ? 

120. My dear Edward, how happy I am to see you ! I 
heard of your approaching happiness with the highest pleas- 
ure. How does Rose do ? And how is our old whimsical 
friend the baron ? You must be patient, and answer all my 
questions. I have many inquiries to make. 

121. The first dawn of morning found Waverley on the 
esplanade in front of the old Gothic gate of the castle. But 
he paced it long before the draw-bridge was lowered. He 
produced his order to the sergeant of the guard, and was 
admitted. The place of his friend's confinement was a 
gloomy apartment in the central part of the castle. 

122. Do you expect to be as high in your class as your 
brother? Did you recite your lessons as well as he did? 
Lazy boy ! Careless child ! You have been playing these 
two hours. You have paid no attention to your lessons. 
You cannot say a word of them. How foolish you have 
been! What a waste of time and talents you have made! 



LESSON IX. 

THE COMMA. 

The Cotnma is a mark like this , 

When you come to a comma in reading, you must gener- 
ally make a short pause. Sometimes you must use the falling 



mTRODUCTOIlY LESSONS. 33 

tnjiection of the voice, when you come to a comma ; and 
sometimes you must keep your voice suspended, as if some 
one had stopped you before you had read all that you in- 
tended. In this lesson you must keep your voice suspended 
when you come to a comma ; hut let the slight pause, or stop 
that you make, he a total cessation of the voice. 

EXAMPLES. 

123. Diligence, industry, and proper improvement of 
time, are material duties of the young. 

124. He is generous, just, charitable, and humane. 

125. By wisdom, by art, by the united strength of a ciril 
community, men have been enabled to subdue the whole 
race of lions, bears, and serpents. 

126. The genuine glory, the proper distinction of the 
rational species, arises from the perfection of the mental 
powers. 

127. Courage is apt to be fierce, and strength is often 
exerted in acts of oppression. Wisdom is the associate of 
justice. It assists her to form equal laws, to pursue right 
measures, to correct power, to protect weakness, and to 
unite individuals in a common interest and general welfare. 
Heroes may kill tyrants, but it is wisdom and laws that pre- 
vent tyranny and oppression. 

[Someti?nes a comma must he read like a question.'^ 

128.* Do you pretend to sit as high in school as Antho- 
ny? Did you read as correctly, speak as loudly, or behave 
as well as he ? 

128. Do you pretend to sit as high on Olympus as Her- 
cules ? Did you kill the Nemean lion, the Erymanthian 
boar, the Lernean serpent, or Stymphalian birds ? 

129. Are you the boy, of whose good conduct I have 
heard so much 1 

129. Art thou the Thracian robber, of whose exploits I 
have heard so much? 

130, Have you not misemployed your time, wasted your 
talents, and passed your life in idleness and vice ? 

130. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority, violated 

* Some of the sentences which follow will be marked with the same number; 
and such sentences are to be read in the same manner, and with the same in« 
flection of the voice, &c. 



34 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons 
and properties of thy feliovv-subjects ? 

131. Who is that stnuding up in his place, with his hat 
on, and his books under his arm ? 

131. Whom are they ushering from the world, with all 
this pageantry and long parade of death 1 

132. Did he recite his lesson correctly, read audibly, and 
appear to understand what he read? 

132. Was his copy written neatly, his letters made hand- 
somely, and did no blot appear on his book ? 

132. Was his wealth stored fraudfully, the spoil of orphans 
wronged, and widows who had none to plead their rights? 

132. Have not you, too, gone about the earth like an evil 
genius, blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry? 

133. Is that a map which you have before you, with the 
leaves blotted with ink? 

133. Is this a dagger, which I see before me, the handle 
toward my hand ? 

133. Will you say that your time is your own, and that 
you have a right to employ it in the manner you please ? 

[Someiimes the comma is to be read like a period, with 
the falling inflection of the voice.'] 

134. -The teacher directed him to take his seat, to study 
his lesson, and to pass no more time in idleness. 

134. It is said by unbelievers that religion is dull, unso- 
cial, uncharitable, enthusiastic, a damper of human joy, a 
morose intruder upon human pleasure. 

134. Charles has brought his pen instead of his pencil, 
his paper instead of his slate, his grammar instead of his 
arithmetic. 

134. Perhaps you have mistaken sobriety for dulness, 
equanimity for moroseness, disinclination to bad company 
for aversion to society, abhorrence of vice for uncharitable- 
ness, and piety for enthusiasm. 

135. Henry was careless, thoughtless, heedless, and in- 
attentive. 

135. This is partial, unjust, uncharitable, iniquitous. 

135. The history of religion is ransacked for instances of 
persecution, of austerities, and enthusiastic irregularities. 

135. Religion is often supposed to be something which 
must be practised apart from every thing else, a distinct pro- 
fession, a peculiar occnnation. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 35 

135. Dryden's mind has a larger range, and he collects 
his images and illustrations from a more extensive circum- 
ference of science. Dr3'den knew more of man in his gen- 
eral nature, and Pope in his local mariners. The notions 
of Dryden were formed by comprehensive speculation, and 
those of Pope by minute attention. 

135. Oh ! you might deem the spot the spacious cavern 
of some virgin mine, deep in the womb of earth, where the 
gems grow, and diamonds put forth radiant rods, and bud 
with amethyst and topaz. 

[Sometimes the comma is to be read like an exclamation*'^ 

136. Oh how can you destroy those beautiful things which 
your father procured for you ! that beautiful top, those pol- 
ished marbles, that excellent ball, and that beautifully painted 
kite, oh bow can you destroy them, and expect that he will 
buy you new ones ! 

136. Oh how canst thou renounce the boundless store 
of charms that Nature to her votary yields ! the warbling 
woodland, the resounding shore, the pomp of groves, the 
garniture of fields, all that the genial ray of morning gilds, 
and all that echoes to the song of even, all that the moun- 
tain's sheltering bosom shields, and all the dread magnifi- 
cence of heaven, oh how canst thou renounce and hope to 
be forgiven ! 

137. Oh winter! ruler of the inverted year! thy scattered 
hair with sleetlike ashes filled, thy breath congealed upon 
thy lips, thy cheeks fringed with a beard made white with 
other snows than those of age, thy forehead ^vrapped in 
clouds, a leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne a sliding 
car, indebted to no wheels, but urged by storms along its 
slippery way, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seemest, and 
dreaded as thou art ! 

138. Lovely art thou, O Peace! and lovely are thy children, 
and lovely are the prints of thy footsteps in the green valleys. 

\_Sometimes the comma and other marks are to be read 
without any pause or injlection of the voice.'\ 

13S. You see, boys, what a fine school-room we have, in 
which you can pursue your studies. 

* The pupil will notice that some sentences which contain a question, to 
which no answer is given or expected, are marked with an exclamation point 
instead of an interrogation point ; but such sentences generally express sur- 
orise or astonishment. &c. The sentences numbered 1.% are of this kind 
See Parker and Fox's Grammar. Part ITT.. No. K4. 



36 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



138. You see, my son, this wide and large firtnament 
over our heads, where the sun and moon, and all the stars 
appear in their turns. 

138. Therefore, my child, fear, and worship, and love 
God. 

138. He, that can read as well as you can, James, need 
not be ashamed to read aloud. 

138. He, that can make the multitude laugh and weep as 
you can, Mr. Shakspeare, need not fear scholars. 

139. I consider it my duty, at this time, to tell you, that 
you have done something, of which you ought to be 
ashamed. 

139. I deem it my duty, on this occasion, to suggest, that 
the land is not yet wholly free from the contamination of a 
traffic, at which every feeling of humanity must revolt. 

140. The Spaniards, while thus employed, were sur- 
rounded by many of the natives, who gazed, in silent admi- 
ration, upon actions which they could not comprehend, and 
of which they did not foresee the consequences. The dress 
of the Spaniards, the whiteness of their skins, their beards, 
their arms, appeared strange and surprising. 

141. Yet, fair as thou art, thou shunnest to glide, beau- 
tiful stream! by the village side, but windest away from the 
hc^unts of men, to silent valley and shaded glen. 

142. But it is not for man, either solely or principally, 
that night is made. 

143. We imagine, that, in a world of our own creation, 
there would always be a blessing in the air, and flowers and 
fruits on the earth. 

144. Share with you ! said his father — so the industrious 
must lose his labor to feed the idle. 

144. His brother, Moses, did not imitate his example. 



LESSON X. 

[Sometimes the pause of a comma must be made where 
there is no pause in your hook. Spaces are left in the fol- 
lowing sentences where the pause is proper.'] 

145. James was very much delighted with the picture 
which he saw. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 37 

145. The Europeans were hardly less amazed at the 
scene now before them. 

146. The inhabitants were entirely naked. Their 
black hair, long and curled, floated upon their shoulders, 
or was bound in tresses around their head. 

147. Persons of reflection and sensibility contemplate 
with interest the scenes of nature. 

148. The succession and contrast of the seasons give 
scope to that care and foresight, diligence and industry, which 
are essential to the dignity and enjoyment of human be- 
ings. 

149. The eye is sweetly delayed on every object to 
which it turns. It is grateful to perceive how widely, 
yet chastely, nature hath mixed her colors and painted 
her robe. 

150. Winter compensates for the want of attractions 
abroad by fireside delights and homefelt joys. In 
all this interchange and variety we find reason to ac- 
knowledge the wise and benevolent care of the God 
of seasons. 

[ 77te pupil may read the follovnng sentences ; but before reading them, 
he may tell after what word the pause should be made. The pause is not 
printed in the sentences, but it must be made when reading them. And 
here it may be observed, that the comma is more frequently used to paint 
nut the gra.mmatical divisions of a sentence, than to indicate a rest or 
cessation of the voice. Good reading depends much upon skill and judg- 
ment in making those pauses which the sense of the sentence dictates., but 
which are not noted in the book; and the sooner the pupil is taught to 
make them, with proper discrimination, the surer and the more rapid loill 
be his progress in the art of reading.} 
I 

151. While they were at their silent meal a horseman 
came galloping to the door, and, with a loud voice, called 
out that he had been sent express with a letter to Gilbert 
Ainslee. 

152. The golden head that was wont to rise at that part 
of the table was now wanting. 

153. For even though absent from school I shall get the 
lesson. 

153. For even though dead I will control the trophies of 
the capitol. 

154. It is now two hundred years since attempts have 
been made to civilize the North American savage. 

155. Doing well has something more in it than the fulfil- 
lino- of a duty. 

4 



38 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

156. You will expect me to say something of the lonely 
records of the former races that inhabited this country. 

157. There is no virtue without a characteristic beauty 
to make it particularly loved by the good, and to make the 
bad ashamed of their neglect of it, 

153. A sacrifice was never yet offered to a principle, that 
was not made up to us by self-approval, and the considera- 
tion of what our degradation would have been had we done 
otherwise. 

159 The following story has been handed down by family 
tradition for more than a century. 

160. The succession and contrast of the seasons give 
scope to that care and foresight, diligence and industry, 
which are essential to the dignity and enjoyment of human 
beings, whose happiness is connected with the exertion of 
their faculties. 

161. A lion of the largest size measures from eight to 
nine feet from the muzzle to the origin of the tail, which 
last is of itself about four feet long. The height of the 
larger specimens is four or five feet. 

162. The following anecdote will show with what obstinate 
perseverance pack horses have been known to preserve the 
line of their order. 

163. Good morning to you, Charles ! Whose book is that 
which you have under your arm? 

163. A benison upon thee, gentle huntsman ! Whose 
towers are these that overlook the wood ? 

164. The incidents of the last few days have been such 
as will probably never again be witnessed by the people of 
America, and such as were never before witnessed by any 
nation under heaven. 

165. To the memory of Andre his country has erected 
the most magnificent monuments, and bestowed on his fam- 
ily the highest honors and most liberal rewards. To the 
memory of Hale not a stone has been erected, and the trav- 
eller asks in vain for the place of his long sleep. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. *^9 

LESSON XL 

THE SEMICOLON. 

TAe Semicolon is made hy a comma placed under a period, 
thus 5 

When you come to a semicolon, you must generally make a 
pause twice as long as you ivaidd viake at a comma. 

Sometimes you must use the falling inflection of the voice 
when you come to a semicolon, and sometimes you must keep 
your voice suspiended, as you were directed in the ninth lesson. 
Whatever may he the length of the pauses, let it he a total 
CESSATION of t tie voice. 

'When you coins to a semicolon in this lesson, you must 
keep your voice suspended, as you loere directed in the ninth 
lesson. 

EXAMPLES. 

166. That God whom you see me daily worship ; whom I 
daily call upon to bless both yon and me, and all mankind; 
whose wondrous acts are recorded in those Scriptures which 
you constantly read ; that God who created the heaven and 
the earth is your Father and Friend. 

167. My son, as you have been used to look to me in all 
your actions, and have been afraid to do any thing unless 
you first knew my will ; so let it now be a rule of your life 
to look up to God in all your actions. 

16S. If I have seen any perish for want of clothing, or 
any poor without covering; if his loins have not blessed me, 
and if he were not warmed with the fleece of my sheep ; if 
I have lifted up my hand against the fatherless, when I saw 
my help in the gate ; then let mine arm fall from my shoul 
der blade, and mine arm be broken from the bone. 

169. The stranger did not lodge in the street; but I 
opened my doors to the traveller. 

170. If my land cry against me, or the furrows thereof 
complain; if I have eaten the fruits thereof without money, 
or have caused the owners thereof to lose their life; let 
thistles crrow instead of wheat, and cockles instead of barley. 

171. When the fair moon, refulgent lamp of night, o'er 
heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light; when not a 



40 ENTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

breath disturbs the deep serene, and not a cloud o'ercasts the 
solemn scene; around her throne the vivid planets roll, and 
stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole ; o'er the dark trees 
a yellower verdure shed, and tip M^ith silver every mountain's 
head; then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, a flood 
of glory bursts from all the skies ; the conscious swains, re- 
joicing in the sight, eye the blue vault, and bless the useful 
light. 

172. When the battle vras ended, the stranger disappeared : 
and no person knew whence he had come, nor whither he had 
gone. 

173. The relief was so timely, so sudden, so unexpected, 
and so providential ; the appearance and the retreat of him 
who furnished it were so unaccountable ; his person was so 
dignified and commanding; his resolution so superior, and 
his interference so decisive, that the inhabitants believed him 
to be an angel, sent by Heaven for their preservation. 



LESSON XII. 

Sometimes you must use the falling inflection of the voice 
when you come to a semicolon, as in the following 

EXAMPLES. 

174. Let your dress be sober, clean, and modest ; not to 
set off the beauty of your person, but to declare the sobriety 
of your mind; that your outward garb may resemble the in- 
ward plainness and simplicity of your heart. 

175. In meat and drink, observe the rules of Christian 
temperance and sobriety ; consider your body only as the 
servant and minister of your soul ; and only so nourish it, 
as it may best perform an humble and obedient service. 

176. Condescend to all the weakness and infirmities of 
your fellow-creatures; cover their frailties; love their excel- 
lences; encourage their virtues; relieve their wants; rejoice 
in their prosperity; compassionate their distress; receive their 
friendship; overlook their unkindness; forgive their malice ; 
be a servant of servants ; and condescend to do the lowest 
offices for the lowest of mankind. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 41 

177. Struck with the sight of so fine a tree, he hastened 
to his own, hoping to find as large a crop upon it; but, to his 
great surprise, he saw scarcely any thing, except branches, 
covered with moss, and a few yellow leaves. 

178. In sleep's serene oblivion laid, I've safely passed the 
silent night ; again I see the breaking shade, again behold 
the morning light. 

179. New-born, I bless the waking hour ; once more, with 
awe, rejoice to be ; my conscious soul resumes her power, 
and soars, my guardian God, to thee. 

180» That deeper shade shall break away; that deeper 
sleep shall leave mine eyes; thy light shall give eternal 
day ; thy love, the rapture of the skies. 

181. In the sight of our law the African slave trader is a 
pirate and a felon ; and in the sight of Heaven, an offender 
far beyond the ordinary depth of human guilt. 

182. Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose; the 
spectacles set them unhappily wrong ; the point in dispute 
was, as all the world knows, to which the said spectacles 
ought to belong. 

183. What hope of liberty is there remaining, if whatever 
is their pleasure, it is lawful for them to do; if what is lawful 
for them to do, they are able to do ; if what they are able to 
do, they dare do; if what they dare do, they really execute; 
and if what they execute, is in no way offensive to you? 

184. Mercury, I won't go in the boat with that fellow. He 
has murdered his countryman; he has murdered his friend; 
T say I won't go in the boat with that fellow ; I will swim over 
the river ; I can swim like a duck. 

185. It is not the use of the innocent amusements of life 
which is dangerous, but the abuse of them ; it is not when 
they are occasionally, but when they are constantly pursued; 
when the love of amusement degenerates into a passion; and 
when, from being an occasional indulgence, it becomes an 
habitual desire. 

186. The prevailing color of the body of a tiger is a deep 
tawny, or orange yellow ; the face, throat, and lower part of 
the belly are nearly white ; and the whole is traversed by 
numerous long black stripes. 

187. The horse, next to the Hottentot, is the favorite prey 
of the lion ; and the elephant and camel are both highly rel- 
ished ; while the sheep, owing probably to its woolly fleece, 
is seldom molested. 

188. The lion, with his strong teeth, breaks large bones 



42 . INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

with the greatest ease ; and he often swallows their fragments 
along with the flesh. 

189. The horse is quick-sighted ; he can see things in the 
night which his rider cannot perceive; but when it is too 
dark for his sight, his sense of smelling is his guide. 

190. In summer, horses in the country feed on grass, or on 
grass and oats; in winter, they eat oats, corn, and hay. When 
grazing in the pasture, they always choose the shortest grass, 
because it is the sweetest; and as they have cutting teeth in 
both their jaws, they can eat very near the ground. 



LESSON XIII. 

The semicolon is sometimes used for a question, and some' 
times as an exclamation. 

EXAMPLES. 

192. Hast thou not set at defiance my authority; violated 
the public peace, and passed thy life in injuring the persons 
and properties of thy fellow-subjects 1 

193. Oh, it was impious ; it was unmanly ; it was poor and 
pitiful ! 

194. Have not you too gone about the earth like an evil 
genius; blasting the fair fruits of peace and industry; phin- 
dering, ravaging, killing without law, without justice, merely 
to gratify an insatial)le lust for dominion ? 

195. Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible to feeling as to 
sight? Or art thou but a dagger of the mind ; a false crea- 
tion, proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? 

196. Has Mercury struck thee with his enfeebling rod; 
or art thou ashamed to betray thy awkwardness? [This 
sentence should be read as directed in Lesson 4.] 

197. By such apologies shall man insult his Creator; and 
shall he hope to flatter the ear of Omnipotence? Think you 
that such excuses will gain new importance in their ascent 
to the Majesty on high; and will you trust the interests of 
eternity in the hands of these superficial advocates? 

19S. And shall not the Christian blush to repine; the 
Christian, from before whom the veil is removed; to whose 
eyes are revealed the glories of heaven ? 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 43 

199. Why, for so many a year, has the poet and the philoso- 
pher wandered amidst the fragments of Athens or of Rome; 
and paused, with strange and kindling feelings, amidst their 
broken columns, their mouldering temples, their deserted 
plains? It is because their day of glory is passed; it is be- 
cause their name is obscured; their power is departed; their 
influence is lost ! 

290. Where are they who taught these stones to grieve ; 
where are the hands that hewed them ; and the hearts that 
reared them ? 

201. Hope ye by these to avert oblivion's doom ; in grief 
ambitious, and in ashes vain 1 

202. Can no support be offered ; can no source of confi- 
dence be named ? 

203. Is this the man that made the earth to tremble; that 
shook the kingdoms; that made the world like a desert; 
that destroyed the cities? 

203. Falsely luxurious, will not man awake; and, spring- 
ing from the bed of sloth, enjoy the cool, the fragrant, and 
the silent hour, to meditation due and sacred song? 

204. But who shall speak before the king when he is trou- 
bled ; and who shall boast of knowledge when he is distressed 
by doubt ? 

205. Who would in such a gloomy state remain longer 
than nature craves ; when every muse and every bloominor 
pleasure wait without, to bless the wildly devious morning 
walk? 

206. Farewell ! May the smile of Him who resides in 
the heaven of heavens be upon thee; and against thy name, 
in the volume of his will, may happiness be written ! 

207. W^hat a glorious monument of human invention, that 
has thus triumphed over wind and wave; has brought the 
ends of the earth in communion ; has established an inter- 
change of blessings, pouring into the sterile regions of the 
north all the luxuries of the south; diffused the light of 
knowledge and the charities of cultivated life; and has thus 
bound together those scattered portions of the human race, 
between which, nature seems to have thrown an insurmount- 
able barrier ! 

20S. Who that bears a human bosom, hath not often felt, 
how dear are all those ties which bind our race in gentleness 
together ; and how sweet their force, let fortune's wayward 
tiand the while be kind or cruel ? 

209. If it was intended for us as well as you, why has not 



44 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

the Great Spirit given it to us ; and not only to us, but why- 
did he not give to our forefathers the knowledge of that book, 
with the means of rightly understanding it ? 



LESSON XIV. 

THE COLON. 

The Colon consists of two periods placed one above the other y 
thus : 

Sometimes the passage ending with a colon is to he read 
with the voice suspended; but it should generally be read 
with the falling inflection of the voice. In this lesson the 
falling inflection is required. 

Be careful to let this pause he a total cessation of the 
VOICE, — longer than that indicated by a comma, or by a semi- 
coloTL 

EXAMPLES. 

210. The smile of gayety is often assumed while the heart 
aches within : though folly may laugh, guilt will sting. 

211. There is no mortal truly wise and restless at the same 
time: wisdom is the repose of the mind. 

212. Nature felt her inability to extricate herself from the 
consequences of guilt: the gospel reveals the plan of Divine 
interposition and aid. 

213. Nature confessed some atonement to be necessary : 
the gospel discovers that the atonement is made. 

214. Law and order are forgotten : violence and rapine 
are abroad : the golden cords of society are loosed. 

215. The temples are profaned : the soldier's curse re- 
sounds in the house of God : the marble pavement is tram- 
pled by iron hoofs : liorses neigh beside the altar. 

216. Blue wreaths of smoke ascend through the trees, 
and betray the half-hidden cottage: the eye contemplates 
well-thatched ricks, and barns bursting with plenty : the 
peasant laughs at the approach of winter. 

217. The necessaries of life are few, and industry secures 
them to every man: it is the elegancies of life that empty the 



mTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 45 

purse* the knick-knacks of fashion, the gralitication of pride, 
and the indulgence of luxury, make a man poor. 

218. Your tree was as fruitful, and in as good order as 
his: it bore as many blossoms, and grew in the same soil: 
only it was not fostered with the same care. Edmund has 
kept his tree clear of hurtful insects : you have suffered them 
to eat up yours in its blossom. 

219. My dear children, I give you these trees: you see 
that they are in good condition. They will thrive as much 
by your care as they will decline by your negligence : their 
fruits will reward you in proportion to your labor. 

220. But Abraham pressed him greatly : so he turned, and 
"they went into the tent: and Abraham baked unleavened 
bread, and they did eat. 

221. A bee among the flowers in spring is one of the 
most cheerful objects that can be looked upon. Its life ap- 
pears to be all enjoyment : so busy and so pleased : yet it is 
only a specimen of insect life, with which, by reason of the 
animal being half domesticated, we happen to be better ac- 
quainted. 

222. 'Tis a picture in memory distinctly defined, with 
the strong and unperishing colors of mind : a part of my 
being beyond my control, beheld on that cloud, and tran- 
scribed on my soul. 

223. Bare trees and shrubs but ill you know could shelter 
them from rain or snow : stepping into their nests they pad- 
dled : themselves were chilled, their eggs were addled: soon 
every father bird and mother grew quarrelsome and pecked 
each other. 

224. Yet such is the destiny of all on earth : so flour- 
ishes and fades m.ajestic man, 

225. Let those deplore their doom whose hopes still 
grovel in this dark sojourn : but lofty souls, who look be- 
yond the tomb, can smile at fate, and wonder why they 
mourn. 

226. If for my faded brow thy hand prepare some fu- 
ture wreath, let me the gift resign : transfer the rosy gar- 
land : let it bloom around the temples of that friend be- 
loved, on whose maternal bosom, even now, I lay my aching 
head. 

227. We do not understand these things : we are told 
that your religion was given to your forefathers, and has 
been handed down from father to son. We also have a 
religion which was given to our forefathers, and- has been 



46 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

handed down to us : it teaches us to be thankful for all 
favors received, to love each other, and to be united : we 
never quarrel about religion. 



LESSON XV. 

THE COhO^, — continued. 

In this lesson the passages ending with a colon are to 
be read with the voice suspended. {See Lesson 9th.) 

228. Do not flatter yourselves with the hope of perfect 
happiness : there is no such thing in the world. 

229. He was often heard to say : I have done with the 
world ; and I am willing to leave it. 

. 229. Be not a niggard of your speech : how goes it ? 

229. Those will be bad days to acquire and cultivate the 
spirit of devotion: but the spirit of devotion, acquired, and 
cultivated, and confirmed before, will convert those bad days 
into good ones. 

230. But, when old age has on your temples shed her 
silver frost, there's no returning sun : swift flies our summer, 
swift our autumn's fled, when youth, and spring, and golden 
joys, are gone. 

231. A divine legislator, uttering his voice from heaven; 
an alaiighty governor, stretching forth his arm to punish or 
reward ; informing us of perpetual rest prepared hereafter 
for the righteous, and of indignation and wrath awaiting the 
wicked : these are the considerations which overawe the 
world, which support integrity, and check guilt. 

232. Not to the rosy maid, whom former hours beheld 
me fondly covet, tune I now the melancholy lyre: but 'tis 
to thee, O Sickness ! 'tis to thee I wake the silent strings. 

233.* A boy at school is by no means at liberty to read 
what books he pleases : he must give attention to those 
which contain his lessons; so that when he is called upon 
to recite, he may be ready, fluent, and accurate in repeating 
the portion assigned him. 

233. A poet is by no means at liberty to invent what 
system of the marvellous he pleases : he must avail himself 

* See note on page 33. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 47 

either of the religious faith, or the superstitious credulity 
of the country wherein he lives ; so as to give an air of 
probability to events which are most contrary to the com- 
mon course of nature. 

234.* It is not only in the school-room, that attention 
should be given to your books : there is a place, one not 
like a school-room ; I mean your own chamber: where you 
can find many opportunities of acquiring knowledge. 

234. It is not only in the sacred fane that homage should 
be paid to the Most High : there is a temple, one not made 
with hands; the vaulted firmament: far in the woods, almost 
beyond the sound of city-chime, at intervals heard through 
the breezeless air. 

235. As we perceive the shadow to have moved along 
the dial, but did not perceive its moving; and it appears 
that the grass has grown, though nobody ever saw it grow : 
so the advances we make in knowledge, as they consist of 
such minute steps, are perceivable only by the distance 
gone over. 

236. When the proud steed shall know why man restrains 
his fiery course, or drives him o'er the plains; when the dull 
ox, why now he breaks the clod, is now a victim, and now 
Egypt's god : then shall man's pride and dulness compre- 
hend his actions', passions', being's use and end. 

237. Jehovah, God of hosts, hath sworn, saying : Surely 
as I have devised, so shall it be ; and as I have purposed, 
so shall it stand. 

233. That day he wore a riding coat, but not a whit the 
warmer he : another was on Thursday brought, and ere the 
Sabbath he had three. 

239. George, you must not laugh at me; I will not bear 
it. You forget what you are about when you ridicule me : 
I know more than you do about the lessons. 

239. Brutus, bay not me; I'll not endure it. You for- 
get yourself, to hedge me in : I am a soldier, older in prac- 
tice, abler than yourself to make conditions. 

240. I never heard a word about it before, said George, 
yesterday: who told you about it, Charles? 

240. I never heard one word of it before, said my uncle 
Toby, hastily : how came he there, Trim ? 

241. Thou shalt pronounce this parable upon the king 
oi Babylon: and shalt say: How hath the oppressor ceased] 

* See note on page 33. 



48 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



LESSON XVI. 

THE PARENTHESIS, CROTCHETS, AND 
BRACKETS 

A Parenthesis is a sentence, or part of a sentence, en- 
closed between two curved lines like these ( ) 

The curved lines in which the parenthesis is enclosed are 
called Crotchets. 

The parenthesis, with the crotchets tvhich enclose it, is 
generally inserted between the words of another sentence, 
and may be omitted without injuring the sense. 

The parenthesis should generally be read in a quicker and 
lower tone of voice than the other parts of the sentence in 
which it stands. 

Sometimes a sentence is enclosed in marks like these [ ] 
which are called Brackets * 

Sentences which are included within crotchets or brackets, 
should generally be read in a quicker and lower tone of voice. 

EXAMPLES. 

242. I asked my eldest son (a boy who never was guilty 
of a falsehood) to give me a correct account of the matter. 

243. The master told me that the lesson (which was a 
very difficult one) was recited correctly by every pupil in 
the class. 

244. When they were both turned of forty, (an age in 
which, according to Mr. Cowley, there is no dallying with 
life,) they determined to retire, and pass the remainder of 
their days in the country, 

245. Notwithstanding all this care of Cicero, history 
informs us, that Marcus proved a mere blockhead; and 
that nature (who, it seems, was even with the son for her 

• 

* Although the crotchet and the bracket are sometimes indiscriminately 
used, the following difference in their use may generally be noticed : Crotchets 
are used to enclose a sentence, or part of a sentence, which is inserted between 
Vie parts of another sentence : brackets are generally used to separate two 
subjects, or to enclose an explanation, note, or observation, standing by itself. 
When a parenthesis occurs within another parenthesis, brackets enclose the 
former, and crotchets enclose the latter. See No. 263, and also Parker and 
Fox's Grammar, Part III., page 30. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 49 

prodigality to the father) rendered hiui incapable of im- 
proving, by all the rules of eloquence, the precepts of phi- 
losophy, his own endeavors, and the most refined conversa- 
tion in Athens. 

246. Natural historians observe (for whilst I am in the 
country I must fetch my allusions from thence) that only 
the male birds have voices ; that their songs begin a little 
before breeding-time, and end a little after. 

247. Dr. Clark has observed, that Homer is more per- 
spicuous than any other author; but if he is so, (which yet 
may be questioned,) the perspicuity arises from his subject, 
and not from the language itself in which he writes. 

218. The many letters which come to me from persons 
of the best sense of both sexes (for I may pronounce their 
characters from their way of writing) do not a little en- 
courage me in the prosecution of this my undertaking. 

249. It is this sense which furnishes the imagination with 
its ideas; so that by the pleasures of the imagination, or 
fancy, (terms which I shall use promiscuously,) 1 here mean 
such as arise from visible objects. 

25J. The stomach (cramm'd from every dish, a tomb of 
boiled and roast, and flesh and fish, where bile, and wind, 
and phlegm, and acid, jar, and all the man is one intestine 
war) remembers oft the school-boy's simple fare, the' tem- 
perate sleeps, and spirits light as air. 

251. William Penn was distinguished from his com- 
panions by wearing a blue sash of silk network, (which it 
seems is still preserved by Mr. Kett of Seething-hall, near 
Norwich,) and by having in his hand a roll of parchment, 
on which was engrossed the confirmation of the treaty of 
purchase and amity. 

252. Again, would your worship a moment suppose, ('tis 
a case that has happened, and may be again,) that the visage 
or countenance had not a nose, pray who would, or who 
could, wear spectacles then? 

253. Upon this the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable) 
changed countenance with alarm. 

254. To speak of nothing else, the arrival of the Eng- 
lish in her father's dominions must have appeared (as indeed 
it turned out to be) a most portentous phenomenon. 

255. Surely, in this age of invention something may be 
struck out to obviate the necessity (if such necessity exists) 
of so tasking the human intellect. 

256. I compassionate the unfortunates now, (at this very 

5 



50 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

moment, perhaps,) screwed up perpendicularly in the seai 
of torture, having in the right hand a fresh-nibbed patent 
pen, dipped ever and anon into the ink-bottle, as if to hook 
up ideas, and under the outspread palm of the left hand a 
fair sheet of best Bath post, (ready to receive thoughts yet 
unhatched,) on which their eyes are rivetted with a stare of 
disconsolate perplexity, infinitely touching to a feeling mind. 

257. Oh the unspeakable relief (could such a machine 
be invented) of having only to grind an answer to one of 
one's dear five hundred friends! 

258. Have I not groaned under similar horrors, from the 
hour when I was first shut up (under lock and key, I believe) 
to indite a dutiful epistle to an honored aunt ? 

259. To such unhappy persons, then, I would fain offer a 
few hints, (the fruit of long experience,) which may prove 
serviceable in the hour of emergency. 

260. If ever you should come to Modena, (where, among 
other relics, you may see Tassoni's bucket,) stop at a palace 
near the Reggio gate, dwelt in of old by one of the Donati. 

261. My father and my uncle Toby (clever soul) were 
sitting by the fire with Dr. Slop; and Corporal Trim (a 
brave and honest fellow) was reading a sermon to them. — As 
the sermon contains many parentheses, and affords an op- 
portunity also of showing you a sentence in brackets, (you 
will observe that all the previous parentheses in this lesson 
are enclosed in crotchets,) I shall insert son)e parts of it in 
the following numbers. [See No. 262, 263, &c,] 

262. To have the fear of God before our eyes, and in our 
mutual dealings with each other, to govern our actions by 
the eternal measures of right and wrong : the first of these 
will comprehend the duties of religion ; the second those of 
morality, which are so inseparably connected together, that 
you cannot divide these two tables, even in imagination, 
(though the attempt is often made in practice,) without 
breaking and mutually destroying them both. [Here my 
father observed that Dr. Slop was fast asleep.] 1 said the 
attempt is often made; and so it is; there being nothing 
more common than to see a man who his nO sense at all of 
religion, and, indeed, has so much honesty as to pretend to 
none, who would take it as the bitterest affront, should you 
but hint at a suspicion of his moral cluiracter, or imagine he 
was not conscientiously just and scrupulous to the uttermost 
mite.* 

* See Parker and Fox's Grammar, Part III., page 30. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 5j[ 

263. I know the banker I deal with, or the physician I 
usually call in, [There is no need, cried Dr. Slop (waking) 
to call in any physician in this case,] to be neither of them 
men of much religion. 

264. For a general proof of this, examine the history of 
the Romish Church: [Well, what can you make of that? 
cried Dr. Slop:] see what scenes of cruelty, murder, rapine, 
bloodshed, [They may thank their own obstinacy, cried 
Dr. Slop,] have all been sanctified by religion not strictly 
governed by morality. 

265. Experienced schoolmasters may quickly make a 
grammar of boys' natures, and reduce them all (saving 
some few exceptions) to certain general rules. 

266. Ingenious boys, who are idle, think, with the hare 
in the fable, that, running with snails, (so they count the 
rest of their school-fellows,) they shall come soon enough 
to the post; though sleeping a good while before their 
starting. 



LESSON XVII. 

THE DASH. 

The bash is a straight mark like this — 

The dash is sometimes used to express a sudden stop, or 
change in the subject. 

Sometimes the dash requires a pause no longer than a 
comma, and sometijnes a longer pause than a period. 

The dash is frequently/ used instead of crotchets or brackets, 
and a parenthesis is thus placed between two dashes. \^See 
Number "^Sl.] 

The dash is sometimes used to precede something unex- 
pected ; as when a sentence beginning seriously ends hu- 
morously. l^See Numbers 311 to 318.] 

In the follotoing sentences the dash expresses a sudden stop, 
or change of the subject. 

EXAMPLES. 

267. If you will give me your attention, I will show you — 
but stop, I do not know that you wish to see. 



52 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

268. Alas ! that folly and falsehood should be so hard 
to grapple with — but he that hopes to make mankind the 
wiser for his labors, must not be soon tired. 

269. I stood to hear — I love it well — the rain's con- 
tinuous sound ; small drops, but thick and fast they fell, 
down straight into the ground. 

270. He set up the most piercing and dreadful cries that 
fear ever uttered — I may well term them dreadful, for they 
haunted my sleep for years afterwards. 

271. Each zone obeys thee — thou goest forth dread, 
fathomless, alone. 

272. Please your honors, quoth Trim, the inquisition is 

the vilest . Prithee spare thy description, Trim. I 

hate the very name of it, said my father. 

273. The fierce wolf prowls around thee — there he 
stands listening — not fearful, for he nothing fears. 

274. The wild stag hears thy falling waters' sound, and 
tremblingly flies forward — o'er his back he bends his state- 
ly horns — the noiseless ground his hurried feet impress not 
— and his track is lost amidst the tumult of the breeze, and 
the leaves falling from the rustling trees. 

275. The wild horse thee approaches in his turn. His 
n:ane stands up erect — his nostrils burn — he snorts — he 
pricks his ears — and starts aside. 

276. The music ceased, and Hamish Fraser, on coming 
back into the shealing, (or shed,) said, I see two men on 
horseback coming up the glen — one is on a white horse. 
Ay — blessed be God, ihat is the good priest — now will I 
die in peace. My last earthly thoughts are gone by — he 
will show me the salvation of Christ — the road that leadeth 
to eternal life. 

277. There was silence — not a word was said — their 
meal was before them — God had been thanked, and they 
began to eat. 

277. They hear not — see not — know not — for their 
eyes are covered with thick mists — they will not see. 

278. The God of gods stood up — stood up to try the 
assembled gods of earth. 

279. And ye like fading autumn leaves will fall ; your 
throne but dust — your empire but a grave — your martial 
pomp a black funereal pall — your palace trampled by your 
meanest slave. 

280. To-day is thine — improve to-day, nor trust to- 
morrow's distant ray. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 53 

281. And thus, in silent waiting, stood the piles of stone 
and piles of wood ; till Death, who, in his vagt affairs, never 
puts things off — as men in theirs — and thus, if I the truth 
must tell, does his viork finally and well — winked at our 
hero as he passed, — Your house is finished, sir, at last; 
a narrower house — a house of clay — your palace for 
another day. 

282. For some time the struggle was most amusing — the 
fish pulling, and the bird screaming with all its might — the 
one attempting to fly, and the other to swim from its invisi- 
ble enemy — the gander at one moment losing and the next 
regaining his centre of gravity. 

The dash is sometimes to be read as a period, with the falling 
infiection of the voice. 

283. The favored child of nature, who combines in her- 
self these united perfections, may justly be considered as the 
masterpiece of creation — as the most perfect image of the 
Divinity here below. 

284. Now launch the boat upon the wave — the wind is 
blowing off the shore — I will not live a cowering slave, in 
these polluted islands more. 

285. The wind is blowing off the shore, and out to sea 
the streamers fly — my music is the dashing roar, my canopy 
the stainless sky — it bends above, so fair a blue, that heaven 
seems opening to my view. 

236. He had stopped soon after beginning the tale — he 
had laid the fragment away among his papers, and had never 
looked at it again. 

287. The exaltation of his soul left him — he sunk down 
— and his misery went over him like a flood. 

2S8. May their fate be a mock-word — may men of all 
lands laugh out with a scorn that shall ring to the poles. 

289. You speak like a boy — like a boy who thinks the 
old gnarled oak can be twisted as easily as the young 
sapling. 

290. I am vexed for the bairns — I am vexed when I 
think of Robert and Hamish living their father's life — But 
let us say no more of this. 

291. He hears a noise — he is all awake — again he 
hears a noise — on tiptoe down the hill he softly creeps — 
'Tis Goody Blake ! She is at the hedge of Harry Gill. 

292. Mr, Playfair was too indulgent, in truth, and favora- 

5^ 



54 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

r 

ble to his friends ^^ — and made a kind of liberal allowance for 
the faults of al] mankind — except only faults of baseness or 
of cruelty ; against which he never failed to manifest the 
most open scorn and detestation. 

293. Towards women he had the most chivalrous feelings 
of regard and attention, and was, beyond almost all men, 
acceptable and agreeable in their society — though with- 
out the least levity or pretension unbecoming his age or 
condition. 

The dash is sometimes to be read like a comma, with the 
voice suspended. \^See Lesson 9^/i.] 

294. Vain men, whose brains are dizzy with ambition, 
bright your swords — your garments flowery, like a plain in 
the spring-time — if truth be your delight, and virtue your 
devotion, let your sword be bared alone at wisdom's sacred 
word. 

295. I have always felt that I could meet death with com- 
posure ; but I did not know, she said, with a tremulous voice, 
her lips quivering — I did not know how hard a thing it 
would be to leave my children, till now that the hour is 
come. 

296. The mountain — thy pall and thy prison — may 
keep thee. 

297. And Babylon shall become — she that was the 
beauty of kingdoms, the glory of the pride of the Chal- 
deans — as the overthrow of Sodom and Gomorrah by the 
hand of God. 

298. Our land — the first garden of liberty's tree — it has 
been, and shall yet be, the land of the free. 

299. Earth may hide — waves ingulf — fire consume us, 
but they shall not to slavery doom us, 

300. They shall find that the name which they have 
dared to proscribe — that the name of Mac Gregor is a spell. 

301. You must think hardly of us — and it is not natural 
that it should be otherwise. 

302. Delightful in his manners — inflexible in his prin- 
ciples — and generous in his affections, he had all that could 
charm in society, or attach in private. 

303. The joys of life in hurried exile go — till hope's fair 
smile, and beauty's ray of light, are shrouded in the griefs 
and storms of night. 

304. Day after day prepares the funeral shroud ; the 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 55 

world is gray with age : - — the striking hour is but an echo 
of death's summons loud — the jarring of the dark grave's 
prison door. Into its deep abyss — devouring all — kings 
and the friends of kings alike must fail. 

305. No persuasion could induce little Flora to leave the 
shealing — and Hamish Fraser was left to sit with her all 
night beside the bed. 

336. One large star arose in heaven — and a wide white 
glimmer over a breaking mass of clouds told that the moon 
was struggling through, and in another hour, if the upper 
current of air flowed on, would be apparent. 

397. He was too w^eak, however, to talk — he could only 
look his thanks. 

308. She made an effort to put on something like mourn- 
ing for her son; and nothing could be more touching than 
this struggle between pious affection and utter poverty : a 
black ribbon or so — a faded black handkerchief, and one 
or tw more such humble attempts to express by outward 
signs j-rief that passeth show. 

309. ^iie great clime, whose vigorous offspring by di- 
viding ocean are kept apart, and nursed in the devotion of 
freedom which their fathers fought for and bequeathed — a 
heritage of heart and hand, and proud distinction from each 
other land, whose sons m^jst bow them at a monarch's mo- 
tion, as if his senseless sceptre w'ere a wand full of the 
magic of exploded science — still one great clime, in full 
and free defiance, yet rears her crest, unconquered and sub- 
lime, above the far Atlantic. 

The dash sometimes precedes something unexpected ; as 
when a. sentence beginning seriously ends humorously. 

310. Good people all, with one accord, lament for Madam 
Blaize ; who never wanted a good w^ord — from those who 
spoke her praise. 

311. The needy seldom passed her door, and always found 
her kind; she freely lent to all the poor — who left a pledge 
behind. 

312. She strove the neighborhood to please, wath manner 
wondrous winning; and rxever followed wicked ways — ex- 
cept when she w as sinning. 

313. At church, in silks and satin new, with hoop of 
monstrous size, she never slumbered in her pew — but when 
she shut her eyes. 



56 



mTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



314. Her love was sought, I do aver, by twenty beaux, 
and more; the king himself has followed her — when she 
has walked before. 

315. But now, her wealth and finery fled, her hangers-on 
cut short all; her doctors found, when she was dead — her 
last disorder mortal. 

316. Let us lament, in sorrow sore; for Kent Street well 
may say, that, had she lived a twelve-month more — she had 
not died to-day. 

The dash is sometimes used with other pauses to lengthen 
them. 

317. That God whom you see me daily worship, whom 
I daily call upon to bless both you and me and all mankind; 
whose wondrous acts are recorded in those Scriptures which 
you constantly read, — that God who created the heavens 
and the earth ; who appointed his Son Jesus Christ to re- 
deem mankind: — this God, who has done all these great 
things, who has created so many millions of men, with whom 
the spirits of the good will live and be happy forever ; — 
this great God, the Creator of worlds of angels, and of men, 
is your Father and Friend. 

318. It is not, therefore, the use of the innocent amuse- 
ments of life which is dangerous, but the abuse of them ; — 
it is not when they are occasionally, but when they are con- 
stantly pursued ; when the love of amusement degenerates 
into a passion, and when, from being an occasional indul- 
gence, it becomes an habitual desire. 

319. In every pursuit, whatever gives strength and energy 
to the mind of man, experience teaches to be favorable to 
the interests of piety, of knowledge, and of virtue; — in 
every pursuit, on the contrary, whatever enfeebles or limits 
the powers of the mind, the same experience ever shows to 
be hostile to the best interests of human nature. 

320. From the first hour of existence to the last, — from 
the cradle of the infant, beside which the mother watches 
with unslumbering eye, to the grave of the aged, where the son 
pours his last tears upon the bier of his father, — in all that 
intermediate time, every day calls for exertion and activity, 
and moral honors can only be won by the steadfast mag- 
nanimity of pious duty. 

321. They say they have bought it. — Bought it ! Yes; 
— of whom? — Of the poor trembling natives, who knew 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 57 

that refusal would be vain ; and who strove to make a merit 
of necessity, by seeming to yield with grace, what they knew 
they had not the power to retain. 

322. We gazed on the scenes, while around us they 
glowed, when a vision of beauty appeared on the cloud; — 
it was not like the sun, as at mid-day we view, nor the moon, 
that rolls nightly through star-light and blue. 

323. It is not the lifeless mass of matter, he will then 
feel, that he is examining, — it is the mighty machine of 
Eternal Wisdom : the workmanship of Him, in whom every 
thing lives, and moves, and has its being. 

324. The expanding rose, just bursting into beauty, has 
an irresistible bewitchingness ; — the blooming bride led 
triumphantly to the hymeneal altar, awakens admiration and 
interest, and the blush of her cheek fills with delight; — but 
the charm of maternity is more sublime than all these. 

325. But Winter has yet brighter scenes; — he boasts 
splendors beyond what gorgeous Summer knows, or Au- 
tumn, with his many fruits and woods, all flushed with many 
hues. 

326. When suffering the inconveniences of the ruder 
parts of the year, we may be tempted to wonder why this 
rotation is necessary; — Vv'hy we could not be constantly 
gratified v/ith vernal bloom and fragrance, or summer beauty 
and profusion. 

327. I feared, — said the youth, with a tear in his eye, — 
I feared that the brute's voice, and the trampling of the 
horse's feet, would disturb her. 

328. Then a spirit passed before my face ; the hair of my 
flesh stood up : It stood still, but I could not discern the 
form thereof: an image was before mine eyes: — There 
was silence, and I heard a voice — Shall mortal man be 
more just than God 1 

The dash is sometimes to be read as a question. 

329. Is it not enough to see our friends die, and part with 
them for the remainder of our days — to reflect that we shall 
hear their voices no more, and that they will never look on 
us again — to see that turning to corruption, which was but 
just now alive, and eloquent, and beautiful with all the 
sensations of the soul 1 

330. He hears the ravens cry ; and shall he not hear, and 
will he not avenge, the wrongs that his nobler animals suf" 



58 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

fer — wrongs that cry out against man from youth to age, in 
the city and in the field, by the way and by the fireside ? 

331. Can we view their bloody edicts against us — their 
hanging, heading, hounding, and hunting down an ancient 
and honorable name — as deserving better treatment than 
that which enemies give to enemies? 

332. Are these the pompous tidings ye proclaim, lights 
of the world, and demi-gods of fame ? Is this your triumph — 
this your proud applause, children of truth, and champions 
of her cause? 

333. Still what are you but, a robber — a base, dishonest 
robber ? [See Lesson 3d, page 21tk.] 

334. Was there ever a bolder captain of a more valiant 
band? Was there ever — but I scorn to boast. 

335. And what if thou shalt fall .unnoticed by the liv- 
ing — and no friend take note of thy departure? 

336. Seest thou yon lonely cottage in the grove — with 
little garden neatly planned before — its roof deep-shaded 
by the elms above, moss-grown, and decked with velvet 
verdure o'er? 

337. What shall we call them? — Piles of crystal light — 
a glorious company of golden streams — lamps of celestial 
ether burning bright — suns lighting systems with their joy- 
ous beams? [See Lesson 5th, page 28th.] 

338. Can you renounce a fortune so sublime — such 
glorious hopes — your backward steps to steer, and roll, 
with vilest brutes, through mud and slime? No! no! your 
heaven-touched hearts disdain the sordid crime! 

The dash is sometimes to be read like an exclamation. 

339. Now for the fight — now for the cannon-peal — for- 
ward — through blood, and toil, and cloud, and fire! 

340. They shake — like broken waves their squares re- 
tire, — on them, hussars! Now give them rein and heel; 
think of the orphaned child, the murdered sire : — earth 
cries for blood, — in thunder on them wheel ! This hour to 
Europe's fate shall set the triumph seal ! 

341. What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime, 
like shipwrecked mariner on desert coast, and see the enor- 
mous waste of vapor, tossed in billows lengthening to the 
horizon round, now scooped in gulfs, with mountains now 
embossed — and hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, 
flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound ! 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. ' 59 

342. The chain of being is complete in me ; in me is 
matter's last gradation lost, and the next step is spirit — 
Deity! I can command the lightning, and am dust! 

343. Sadly to Blount did Eustace say, Unworthy office 
here to stay! no hope of gilded spurs to-day — but, see, 
look up — on Flodden beni, the Scottish foe has fired 
his tent. 

344. Good God ! that in such a proud moment of life, 
worth ages of history — when, had you but hurled one bolt 
at your bloody invader, that strife between freemen and 
tyrants had spread through the world ; that then — O, dis- 
grace upon manhood! e'en then you should falter — should 
cling to your pitiful breath, — cower down into beasts, when 
you might have stood men ; and prefer a slave's life to a 
glorious death i 

345. Beneath the very shadow of the fort, where friendly 
swords were drawn, and banners flew, ah! who could deem 
that foot of Indian crew was near ? — Yet there, with lust of 
murderous deeds, gleamed like a basilisk,- from woods in 
view, the ambushed foeman's eye — His volley speeds, and 
Albert — Albert — falls! the dear old father bleeds! 

346. Above me are the Alps, the palaces of Nature, 
whose vast walls have pinnacled in clouds their snowy scalps, 
and throned Eternity in icy halls of cold sublimity, where 
forms and falls the avalanche — the thunderbolt of snow ! 

347. Now, now, the secret I implore; out with it — speak 

— discover — utter ! 

348. Peace ! I'd not go if staying here would strew his 
hoar hairs in the tomb — not stir, by Heaven! Must I toss 
counters? sum the odds of life, when honor points the way? 

— When was the blood of Douglas precious in a noble cause? 

349. How has expectation darkened into anxiety — anxie- 
ty into dread — and dread into despair ! Alas ! not one 
memento shall ever return for love to cherish. All that shall 
ever be knou^n is, that she sailed from her port, and was 
never heard of more. 

350. A measure of corn would hardly suffice me fine flour 
enough for a month's provision, and this arises to above six 
score bushels ; and many hogsheads of wine and other liquors 
have passed through this body of mine — this wretched 
strainer of meat and drink ! And what have I done all this 
time for God and man? What a vast profusion of good 
things upon a useless life and a worthless liver! 

351. Ay, cluster there, cling to your masters; judges, 
Romans — slaves! 



60 INTRODUCTOEY LESSONS. 

LESSON XVIII. 

THE HYPHEN. 

The Hyphen is a little mark like this - It resembles a 
dash, hut is not so long. 

The hyphen is used to separate the syllables of a word; 
or to make one word of tioo ; as, semi-circle, sea-water. 

When there is not room enough in the line for the whole 
of a word, some of its syllables are put into the line with a 
hyphen,^ and the remainder in the next line : as, extraor- 
dinary. 

When a hyphen is placed over the letters a, e, i, o, u, or y, 
it shows that they have their long sound. 

[The pupil may tell for what purpose the hyphen is used 
in the following words.] 

352. Extraneous, sea-water, semi-circle, demi-gods, Seeth- 
ing-hall, Moss-side, plane-trees, bed-side, Birk-knowe, over- 
caaopied, toil-hardened, gray-haired, to-morrow, Sabbath- 
day, Sardanapalus, ill-requited, thunder-cloud, European, 
Epicurean, pine-covered, clay-cold, snow-clad, parish-clerk, 
night-steed, moon-eyed, azure, all-wise, edict, fellow-crea- 
tures. Icy, well-founded, omega, fellow-feeling, uniform, 
prophesy, earth-born, far-wandering, storm-clouds, hyme- 
neal, chamber, either, fairy, lever, apiary, culinary. 



LESSON XIX. 

ELLIPSIS. 

Ellipsis means an omission of some loord or words.f 
Sometimes a sentence is unfinished, or some parts of it are 

* See Parker and Fox's Grammar, Part III., page 31, No. &(^. 

\ The ellipsis sometimes refers to syllables or letters only. See No. 359. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 61 

purposely omitted ; and the mark ichich indicates an ellipsis, 
is put in the place of that which is left out. 

An ellipsis is sometimes indicated by a marJc like this 
-, which resimbles a dash lengthened. 

Sometimes the ellipsis is denoted by asterisks, or stars, like 
these ****** 

Sometimes the ellipsis is marked by small dots, or periods, 
like these 

And sometimes the ellipsis is indicated by hyphens, like 
these 

The ellipsis sometimes so ciosely resembles a dash that it 
is scarcely distinguishable from it. 

The voice is generally suspended at an ellipsis ; but the 
falling infection is frequently used when the ellipsis follows 
a question or exclamation. In some of the following sentences, 
the dash and ellipsis are both used. 

EXAIUPLES. 

353. Hast thou But how shall I ask a question 

which must bring tears into so many eyes! 

354. The air breathes invitation; easy is the walk to 
the lake's margin, where a boat lies moored beneath her 
sheltering tree. — 

Forth we went, and down the valley, on the streamlet's 
bank, pursued our way, a broken company, mute or con- 
versing, single or in pairs. 

355. Who is here so vile, that will not love his country? 
if any, speak; for him have I offended, — I pause for a 
reply — 

None ! then none have I oifended. 

356. It is in vain to explain : — the time it would take to 
reveal to you 

Satisfy my curiosity in writing them. 

357. Indeed he is very ill, sir, Can't help it. 

We are very distressed, Can't help it. Our poor 

children, too Can't help that, neither. 

358. Now, if he had married a woman with money, you 
know, why, then 

The suppliant turned pale, and would have fainted. 

359. I have been, my dear S on an excursion 

through the counties which lie along the eastern side of the 
Blue Ridge. 

6 



62 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



360. You have my answer: * * * — let my actions 
speak. 

361. No, no, Dionysius; remember that it was I alone 
who displeased thee: Damon could not 

362. If 7^c were all Remember haughty Henry, the 

nephew of his wife, whose word could speed a veteran army 
to his kinsman's aid. 

363. I would not wound thee, Douglas, well thou know- 
est ; but thus to hazard on a desperate cast thy golden 
fortunes 



364. For thy father's sake »- 



Peace! I'd not go if staying here would strew his hoar 
hairs in the tomb not stir, by Heaven ! 

365. Nay, hear me, hear me, Douglas 

— Talk to me of dangers? Death and shame! is not my 
race as high, as ancient, and as proud as thine? 

366. Still must I wonder ; for so dark a cloud 

Oh, deeper than thou think'st I've read thy heart. 

367. Your grace will pardon me for obeying- 



Say no more, my child ; you are yet too raw to make 
proper distinctions. 

368. Let them - - - - or suppose I address myself to 
some particular sufferer — there is something more confi- 
dential in that manner of communicating one's ideas — as 
Moore says. Heart speaks to heart — I say, then, take es- 
pecial care to write by candle-light. 

369. To such unhappy persons, in whose miseries I 

deeply sympathize Have I not groaned under 

similar horrors? 

370. That spares manual labor — this would relieve from 
mental drudgery, and thousands yet unborn - - - - But hold ! 
I am not so sure that the female sex in general may quite 
enter into my views on the subject. 

371. I am glad to see you well : Horatio or I do 

forget myself 

372. Would I had met my dearest foe in heaven, or ever 
I had seen that day, Horatio ! 

My fjther methinks I see my father. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 63 

LESSON XX. 

APOSTROPHE, QUOTATION, AND DIURESIS. 

An Apostrophe is a mark which differs from a comma only 
in being placed above the line ; thus ' 

The apostrophe shows that some letter or letters are left 
out; as, 'tis for it is, tho' for though, loY'd for loved. 

The apostrophe is likewise used in grammar to designate 
the possessive case; as, John's book. 

A Quotation consists of four commas or apostrophes ; two 
placed at the beginning and two at the end of a word, sentence, 
or part of a sentence. The two which are placed at the be- 
ginning are inverted, or upside down. 

A quotation shows that the word or sentence was spoken by 
some one, or was taken from some other author. 

A DicBresis consists of two periods placed over a vowel; 
thus, a. 

The diasresis shows that the letter over ichich it is placed is 
to be pronounced separately ; as, creator, Zoonomia, aerial. 

[In this lesson the pupil is to recognize each of the above-men- 
tioned marks, and explain their use.] 

EXAMPLES. 

373. The fox-howl's heard on the fell (or hill) afar.* 

374. The kindling fires o^er heaven so bright, look sweetly 
out from yon azure sea. 

375. Banished from Rome! what's banished, but set free 



* In this lesson, as well as in some of the preceding- lessons, there are several 
sentences of poetry, which are not divided into poetical lines. The reason of 
this is, that, in the opinion of the author, poetical lines should not be read by 
the pupil, without special instruction to avoid that " sing- song" utterance, into 
which he is too apt to fall in reading verse. This subject is reserved for the 
36th lesson, where it is fully exemplified. It remains to be observed here, that 
abbreviations and contractions, such as occur in the poetical sentences in this 
lesson and others, which appear in the form of prose, are not allowable in 
prose itself This explanation appears to be necessary, lest the authority of 
this book should be quoted by the pupil for the use of abbreviations in prose. 



64 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

from daily contact of the things I loathe? " Tried and con- 
victed traitor" — Who says this? Who'll prove it, at his 
peril, on ray head? "Banished?" — I thank you for't. It 
breaks my chain ! I held some slack allegiance till this 
hour — but now my sword's my own. 

376. Your consul's merciful. For this all thanks. He 

dares not touch a hair of Catiline. " Traitor ! " I go — 

but I return. This trial ! Here I devote your senate! 

I've had wrongs, to stir a fever in the blood of age. * * * * * 
This day is the birth of sorrows. 

377. The eye could at once command a long-stretching 
visla, seemingly closed and shut up at both extremities by 
the coalescing cliffs. 

378. It seemed like Laocoon struggling ineffectually in 
the hideous coils of the monster Python. 

379. In those mournful months, when vegetables and 
animals are alike coerced by cold, man is tributary to the 
howling storm, and the sullen sky ; and is, in the pathetic 
phrase of Johnson, a " slave to gloom." 

380. I would call upon all the true sons of humanity to 
cooperate with the laws of man and the justice of Heaven in 
abolishing this " cursed trafRc." 

381. Come, faith, and people these deserts! Come and 
reanimate these regions of forgetfiilness. 

382. I am a professed lucubrator; and who so well qual- 
ified to delineate the sable hours, as 

" A meagre, muse-rid mope, adust and thin ! " 

383. He forsook, therefore, the bustling tents of his 
father, the pleasant " south country " and '* well of La- 
hairoi;" he went out and pensively meditated at the even- 
tide. 

384. The Grecian and Roman philosophers firmly be- 
lieved that "the dead of midnight is the noon of thought." 

385. Young observes, with energy, that " an undevout 
astronomer is mad." 

386. Young Blount his armor did unlace, and, gazing on 
his ghastly face, said — "By Saint George, he's gone! that 
spear-wound has our master sped; and see the deep cut 
on his head! Good night to Marmion ! " — "Unnurtured 
Blount ! thy brawling cease • he opes his eyes," said Eustace, 
" peace ! " — 



I 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 65 

387. The first sentence, with which he broke the awful 
silence, was a quotation from Rousseau : " Socrates died 
like* a philosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God ! " 

33S A celebrated modern writer says, " Take care of 
the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves." 
This is an admirable remark, and might be very seasonably 
recollected when we begin to be " weary in well doing," 
from the thought of having much to do. 

339. I've seen the moon gild the mountain's* brow; I've 
watched the mist o'er the river stealing; but ne'er did I feel 
in my breast, till now, so deep, so calm, and so holy a feeling : 
'tis soft as the thrill which memory throws athwart the soul 
in the hour of repose. 

390. Blest be the day I 'scaped the wrangling crew from 
Pyrrho's* maze and Epicurus' * sty ; and held high converse 
with the godlike few, who to th' enraptured heart, and ear, 
and eye, teach beauty, virtue, truth, and love, and melody. 

391. But thou, who Heaven's* just vengeance dar'st defy, 
this deed, with fruitless tears, shalt soon deplore. 

392. O Winter 1 ruler of the inverted year ! thy scatter'd 
hair with sleet-like ashes fiil'd, thy breath congeal'd upon thy 
lips, thy cheeks fring'd with a beard made white with other 
snows than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, a 
leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne a sliding car, in- 
debted to no wheels, but urg'd by storms along its slipp'ry 
way, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, and dreaded 
as thou art ! 

393. For, as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I 
found an altar with this inscription, " To the unknown 
God." Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare 
I unto you. 



* The apostrophe in these words is the sign of the possessive case. 

6# 



66 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



LESSON XXI. 

THE ASTERISK, OBELISK, DOUBLE OBE- 
LISK, SECTION, PARALLELS, PARAGRAPH, 
INDEX, CARET, BREVE, AND BRACE.* 

The pupil will take particular notice of the following 
marks, so that he may call them hy name, and explain their 
use in the following lesson. 



This mark 


* 


is called an Asterisk, or Star. 


This mark 


t 


is called an Obelisk. 


This mark 


\ 


is called a Double Obelisk. 


This mark 


11 


is called a Paragraph. 


This mark 


§ 


is called a Section. 


These marks 


11 


are called Parallels. 



The Asterisk, Obelisk, Double Obelisk, Paragraph, Sec- 
tion, Parallel, and sometimes figures, or letters, are used to 
shoio that there is a note at the bottom of the page. When 
many notes occur on a page, these marks are sometimes 
doubled. [See next page.'] 

The Paragraph ^ is used to show the beginning of a new 
subject. 

The Section § is also used to divide chapters into less 
parts. 

The Index or Hand (jC/^* points to something which re- 
quires particular attention. 

The Breve -— ' is placed over a letter to show that it has a 
short sound; as, Helena. 

The Brace > is used to unite several lines of poetry, or 
to connect a number of words with one common term. 

The Caret A is never used in printed books ; but in meri- 
ting it shows that something has accidentally been left out; as, 

recited 

George has his lesson. 



" The teacher will find, in Parker and Fox's Grammar, Part III., page 
21 st to 35th, a complete enumeration of a// the marks used in written language, 
with rules, observations, and practiced exercises for the pupil in the use of ihem, 
more extensive and particular than he will probably find in any other work. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 67 

fO= When several Eisterisks or stars are placed together, they repre- 
sent an ellipsis. [See Lesson 19th.] 

EXAMPLES. 

394. Many persons pronounce the word Helena,* incor- 
rectly. They call it Helena ; and the words ac'ceptable, rec'- 
ognize, Epicure'an, and Europe/an, are frequently incorrectly 
called accep'table, recog'nize, Epicu'rean, and Euro'pean. 

395. The leprosy, therefore, of Naaman shall cleave unto 
thee. * * * * And he went out from his presence a leper 
as white as snow. 

396. The Cougar t is the largest animal of the cat kind, 
found in North America; and has occasionally received the 
name of the American lion, from the similarity of its pro- 
portions and color to those of the lion of the old world. 

397. The keeper of the elephant gave him a gallon of 
arrack, J which rendered the animal very furious. 

398. I fell upon my knees on the bank, with my two 
servants, and the drogoman§ of the monastery. 

399. The history of Joseph is exceedingly interesting 
and instructive.il 

400. It was a cave, a huge recess, that keeps, till June, 
December's snow ; a lofty precipice in front, a silent 
tarn 51 below. 

401. ae-o-u-s, ^ 

c, '." " ' / are pronounced like shiis. 
S-c-i-o-u-s, i ^ 

T-i-o-u-s, ) 

402. See where the rector's** splendid mansion stands, 
embossed deep in new enclosed lands, — lands wrested from 
the indigent and poor, because, forsooth, he holds the village 
cure.ft 

403. When the young blood danced jocund through his 
veins, 'tis said his sacred stole || received some stains. 

404. Their wants are promised Bridewell,§§ or the stocks. 

* This is the name of a small island situated on the west of Africa, noted 
for the exile of Napoleon Bonaparte. 

t Pronounced Coo'-gar. Tne name given to this animal, by the country 
people, generally, is painter, evidently a corruption of panther. 

X Arrack is a very strong spirituous liquor. 

^ Drogoman means an interpreter. 

II The whole history of Joseph will be found in the Bible j from the 37ih 
chapter to the end of the book of Genesis. 

H Ta n is a small lake, high up in the mountains. 

** A clergyman. ft Cure, — The office of a clergyman. 

\-\ Stole, — A long robe worn by the clergy of England. 

§§ B/iofewje/Z, —> A house of correction. 



68 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

LESSON XXII. 

ACCENT. 

Accent is the peculiar tone or force given to some letter or 
syllahle of a loord. 

There are three accents ^ the Acute, the Grave, and the 
Circumfiex. 

The acute accent is noted hy a marh lilce this ' placed over 
a letter or syllable, as in the word Epicurean. 

The grave accent is represented hy a mark like this ^ 
placed over a letter or syllable, as in the word Clessammor. 

The circumflex accent is distinguished hy a mark like 
this ^ placed over a letter or syllable. 

The letter or syllable over which either of the accents is 
placed, is to he pronounced inore forcibly than the other parts 
of the same word; as, rec'ognize, Reutliamir, Fingal. 

The word or syllable over which the acute accent is placed, 
must he pronounced with the rising inflection of the voice; as, 
rec'ognize, Epicure'an, ac'ceptable. 

The word or syllable over which the grave accent is placed 
must he pronounced with the falling inflection of the voice; as, 
Reuthamir, Clessammor. 

The word, or syllable over which the circumflex accent is 
placed, must be pronounced partly with the rising and partly 
with the falling inflection of the voice. If it begin with the ris^ 
ing and end with the falling , it is called the falling circumflex ; 
but if it begin with the falling and end ivith the rising, it is 
called the rising circumflex. 

The circumflex accent is sometimes used to express the 
broad sound of a letter, as in Fingal, in which the a is 
pronounced as in the word fall. 

In every word of more than one syllable, there is one {and 
sometimes more than one) ivhich must be pronounced more 
forcibly than the others; and the acute accent is often used 
to show which this syllable is. The syllable thus pronounced 
is called the accented syllable; as, cap'illary, red'olent, ax'iom. 

The acute, grave, and circumflex accents are sometimes 
used to direct the management of the voice in reading sen- 
tences ; the acute accent indicating the rising, the grave the 



INTRODUCTORir LESSONS. 69 

falling inflection of the voice, and the circumflex hath the 
rising and falling united. TVIien the circumflex is used to 
indicate a sound commencing with the rising and ending 
with the falling inflection, it is printed thus, ^ ; but when 
the sound commences ivith the falling and ends with the 
j'ising inflection, it is printed thus, ^ , which the pupil will 
perceive is the same mark inverted. 

[The pupil may now read the following sentences, recol- 
lecting to manage his voice, when he meets the respective 
marks of accent, as directed above.] 

495. Did they recite correctly, or incorrectly 1 

406. They recited correctly, not incorrectly. 

407. Did they speak properly, or improperly 1 

408. They spoke properly, not improperly. 
499. Did Charles go willingly, or unwillingly? 

410. Charles went willingly, not unwillingly. 

411. Did you say Epicurean, or Epicurean? 

412. I said Epicurean, not Epicurean. I know better 
than to say so. 

413. You must not say acceptable, but ac'ceptable. 

414. You must not pronounce that word recognize, but 
recognize. 

415. We must act according to the law, not contrary to it. 

416. Did he say wisdom, or wisdom? 

417. He said wisdom, not wisdom. 

418. What must the King do now? Must he submit ? 
The King shall do it: must he be deposed? 
The King shall be contented : must he lose 
The name of King? — let it go ! 

419. I'll give my jewels, for a set of 'beads ; 
My gorgeous palace, for a hermitage; 
My gay apparel, for an almsman's gown; 
My figured goblets, for a dish of wood ; 
My sceptre, for a painter's walking staff; 
My subjects, for a pair of carved saints : 
And my large kingdom, for a little grave; 
A little, little grave — an obscure grave. 

420. Art thou poor? Show thyself active and indus- 
trious, peaceable and contented: Art thou wealthy? Show 
thyself beneficent and charitable, condescending and hu- 
mane. 



70 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



421. This corruptible must put on incorruption, and this 
mortal must put on immortality. 

422. Religion raises men above themselves; irreligion 
sinks them beneath the brutes. 

423. And if you do, you will but make it blush, and glow 
with shame of your proceedings, Hubert. 

424. Hamlet, you have your father much offended. 

425. Madam, you have my father much offended. 

426. If you said so, then I said so. 

427. No, say you ; did he say No 1 He did ; he said No. 

428. Is the goodness, or the wisdom of the divine Being 
more manifest in this his proceeding? 

429. Shall we in your person crown the author of the 
public calamities, or shall we destroy him? 

430. From whence can he produce such cogent exhorta- 
tions to the practice of every virtue, such ardent excitement 
to piety and devotion, and such assistance to attain' them, as 
those which are to be met with throughout every page of 
these inimitable writings? • 

431. Where, amidst the dark clouds of Pagan philosophy, 
can he show us such a clear prospect of a future state, the 
immortality of the soul, the resurrection of the dead, and 
the general judgment, as in St. Paul's first epistle to the 
Corinthians? 

432. Would it not employ a beau prettily enough, if, in- 
stead of eternally playing with his snuff-box, he spent some 
time in making one? 

433. Would an infinitely wise Being make such glorious 
beings for so mean a purpose? Can he delight in the pro- 
duction of such abortive intelligences, such short-lived rea- 
sonable beings? Would he give us talents that are not to be 
exerted, capacities that are not to be gratified? 

434. Whither shall I turn? Wretch that I am! to what 
place shall I betake myself? Shall I go to the capitol? 
Alas ! it is overflowed with my brother's blood ! Or shall I 
retire to my hoiise? Yet there I behold my mother plunged 
in misery, weeping and despairing ! 

435. King Agrippa, believest thou the prophets ? I know 
that thou believest. 

436. Art thou he that should come, or shall we look for 
another? 

437. The baptism of John, was it from heaven, — or of 
men? 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 71 

48S. Will you go, — or stay ? Will you ride, — or walk ? 
Will you go to-day, — or to-morrow ? 

439. Did you see him, — or his brother? Did he travel 
for health, — or pleasure? 

440. Did he resemble his father, — or his mother? Is 
this book yours, — or mine? 

441. Was it ar'med, say you? 'Armed, my lord. From 
top to toe ? My lord, from head to foot. 

442. Then saw you not his face? Oh yes, my lord, he 
wore his beaver up. 

443. I did not say a better soldier, but an elder. 

444. Aim not to show knowledge, but to acquire it. 

445. Did I say go, — or go ? 

446. Hence I — home, you idle creatures, get you home. 
You blocks, you stones! you worse than senseless things! 

447. Get thee behind me, Satan. No. You did not 
read that right. You should say, Get thee behind me, 
Satan. 

448. 'Angels and ministers of grace, defend us. 

449. Jesus, Master! have mercy on us.* 

459. Charity suffereth long, and is kind ; charity envieth 
not; charity vaunteth not itself; is not puffed up; doth not 
behave itself unseemly ; seeketh not her own ; is not easily 
provoked ; thinketh no evil. 

451. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and un- 
derstand all mysteries, and all knowledge ; and though I 
have all faith, so that I could remove moiintains, and have 
not charity, I am nothing. 

452. I tell you, though you, though all the world, though 
an angel from heaven, should declare the truth of it, I could 
not believe it. - 

453. I tell you, though you, though all the world, though 
an angel from heaven, should declare the truth of it, I could 
not believe it. 

454. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus. 

455. You wrong me every way, you wrong me, Brutus. 
[ The pupil may say which is the correct way of reading these 
two sentinces.'] 

* This impassioned expression of tiie ten lepers to our Savior is most fre- 
quently read from the sacred desk with the acute accent. The author thinks 
that due reflection will convince every one that it thereby loses a great portion 
of its force and feeling-. The grave accent is on many, perhaps on all occfi 
sions, expressive of a tone of much deeper emotion than thai indicated by the 
acute accent ; a remark which this sentence will clearly prove. See also 
Numbers 452 and 453, and especially Number 657, page ios. 



72 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

456. Are you going to Boston ? What did you ask me ? 
Are you going to Boston ? ^ 

457. They tell us to be moderate ; but they, they are to 
revel in profusion. 

458. I see thou hast learned to rail. 

459. I know that thoa art a scoundrel. 

460. Such trifling would not be admitted in the inter- 
course of men, and do you think it will avail more with 
Almighty God ? 

461. Is thy servant a dog, that he should do this great 
thing ? 

462. Talk to me of dangers ? Death and shame ! Is not 
my race as high, as ancient, and as proud as thine ? 

[Let the pupil tell in which of the four ways the following 
sentence should he read.^ 

463. Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss ? 

464. Betrayest thou the Son of Man with a kiss ? 

465. Betrayest thoii the Son of Man with a kiss? 

466. Betrayest thou the Son of Man v^nth a kiss ? 

467. Lo ! — have I wandered o'er the hills for this ? 

468. That lulled them, as the north wind does the sea. 

469. For we trust we have a good conscience. 

470. Trust I Trust we have a good conscience ! 

471. Certainly, Trim, quoth my father, interrupting him, 
you give that sentence a very improper accent ; for you curl 
up your nose, man, and read it with such a sneering tone, 
as if the parson was going to abuse the apostle. 

472. For we trust we have a good conscience. 

473. Trust ! Trust we have a good conscience ! 

474. Surely, if there is anything in this life which a man 
may depend upon, and to the knowledge of which he is capa- 
ble of arriving upon the most indisputable evidence, it must 
be this very thing, — whether he has a good conscience 
or no. 

* In all questions which can be answered hy yes or no, (as has been already 
stated, under Lesson 6lh,) rising inflection of the voice is used. But it may 
here be remarked, that when the question is repeated, the repetition is gen- 
erally accompanied by the falling inflection. But the reason of this is.lhal 
on the repetition of the question it becomes rather a declaration than a ques- 
tion. Thus, in the question in No. 456, if the person addressed, by reason 
of distance or deafness, does not hear dislinclfy, and says, What did you 
ask me 7 the reply would naturally be, / asked you, Are you going to 
Boston. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 73 

475. I am positive I am right, quoth Dr. Slop. 

476. If a man thinks at all, he cannot well be a stranger 
to the true state of this account ; — he must be prir\' to his 
own thoughts and desires — he must remember his past pur- 
siiits, and know certainly the true springs and motives which 
in general have governed the actions of his hfe. I defy him, 
without an assistant, quoth Dr. Slop. 

477. In other matters we may be deceived by false appear- 
ances; but here the mind has all the evidence and facts 
within herself. 



LESSON XXIII. 

EMPHASIS. 

JBy Emphasis is meant the force or loudness of voice hy 
which we distinguish the principal icord or words in a sen- 
tence. 

To emphasize a wordy means to pronounce it in a loud or 
forcible manner. 

The meaning of a sentence, especially if it be a question, 
often depends upon the proper placing of the emphasis. 
Thus : in the sentence. Shall you ride to town to-day 1 if 
the emphasis be placed upon ride, the question will be, 
Shall you RIDE to town to-day? — and it may be answered, 
No, I shall not ride, I shall walk. If the emphasis be 
placed upon you, the question then becomes, Shall YOU 
ride to town to-day ? and the answer may be, No, I shall 
not go myself, I shall send my son. If the emphasis be 
placed on town, the question then becomes, Shall you ride 
to TOWN to-day? and the answer may be. No, I shall not 
ride to towx, but I shall ride into the country. If the 
emphasis be placed upon day, the question then becomes, 
Shall you ride to town TO-DAY ? and the answer may be, 
No, I shall not go to-day, but I shall to-morrow. 

In reading the following sentences, the pupil will em- 
phasize the words in capital letters. 

478. You were paid to FIGHT against Alexander, not to 
RAIL at him. 



74 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

479. And Saul said unto Michal, Why hast thou DE- 
CEIVED me so? 

480. Then said the High Priest, Are these things SO? 

481. Exercise and temperance strengthen even an IN- 
DIFFERENT constitution 

482. AGAIN to the battle, Achaians. 

483. I that denied thee GOLD, will give my HEART. 

484. You wronged YOURSELF to write in such a 
case. 

485. The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our STARS ; but 
in OURSELVES, that we are underlings. 

486. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy 
brother's eye, bat considerest not the BEAM that is in thine 
OWN eye? 

487. And Nathan said unto David, THOU art the man. 

488. A day, an HOUR of virtuous liberty, is worth a 
whole eternity of bondage. 

489. I'm tortured even to madness when I THINK of 
the proud victor. 

490. 'Tis all a libel, PAXTON, sir, will say : — 
Not yet, my friend! TO-MORROW, faith, it may; 
And for that very cause I print TO-DAY. 

491. The men whom nature's works can charm, with 
GOD HIMSELF hold converse; grow familiar day by day 
with his conceptions, ACT upon his plan, and form to HIS 
the relish of their souls. 

492. It is equally unjust in thee to put DAMON or ME 
to death : but PYTHIAS were unjust, did he let Damon 
suffer a death that the tyrant prepared only for PYTHIAS. 

493. What ! does life DISPLEASE thee ? 

Yes ; it displeases me when I see a TYRANT. 

494. BETRAYEST thou the Son of man with a kiss ? 

495. Betrayest THOU the Son of man with a kiss ? 

496. Betrayest thou the SON of man with a kiss ? 

497. Betrayest thou the Son of MAN with a kiss? 

498. Betrayest thou the Son of man with a KISS? 

499. The firmest works of MAN, too, are gradually 
giving way. 

500. And THOU must sail upon this sea, a long event- 
ful voyage. The wise MAY suffer wreck — the foolish 
MUST. 

501. My ear is PAINED, my soul is SICK, with every 
day's report of wrong and outrage, with which earth is 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 75 

FILLED. There is no FLESH in man's obdurate heart, — 
it does not FEEL for man. 

592. Slaves cannot BREATHE in England; if their 
lungs receive our air, that moment they are FREE. 



LESSON XXIV. 

PRIMARY AND SECONDARY EMPHASIS.* 

In sentences ivhere several words are to he emphasized, some 
words receive a stronger emphasis than others. This leads to 
a distinctiori, called primary and secondary emphasis. The 
primary emphasis is the stronger emphasis. The secondary 
emphasis is the weaker emphasis ; of which, there are several 
degrees. 

In the following sentences, the words in LARGE CAPI- 
TALS are to receive the primary emphasis. Those in small 
CAPITALS are to receive the secondary emphasis, and those in 
Italic an emphasis of less force than those in small capitals. 

503. What STRONGER breastplate than a heart untainted! 
THRICE is he armed that hath his quarrel just : and he 
but naked, though locked up in STEEL, whose conscience 
with INJUSTICE is corrupted. 

504. But winter has yet brighter scenes; — he boasts 
splendors beyond what gorgeous summer knows, — or au- 
tumn with her many fruits and woods, all flushed with 
many hues. 

505. Boisterous in speech, in action prompt and bold. 
He buys, he sells, — he steals, he KILLS for gold. 

506. The combat deepens. ON, ye brave, who rush to 
glory or the grave ! Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave, 
and charge with all thy chivalry. 

507. Oh, fear not thou to die ! But rather fear to LIVE ; 

* Althoug-h emphasis generally requires a degree of loudness in the voice, 
yet it is frequentl)'- the case that strongly emphatic words should be uttered with 
a deeper rather thaji a louder tone of voice. This remark can be exemplified 
better by the living teacher than by examples addressed to the eye. 



■76 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



for life has thousand snares thy feet to try, by peril, pain, 
and strife. 

508. Yea, long as Nature's humblest child hath kept her 
temple undefiled by sinful sacrifice, Earth's fairest scenes are 
all HIS OWN : he is a MONARCH, and his throne is built 
amid the skies. 

609. Misses! the tale that I relate this lesson seems 
to carry — Choose not alone a proper mate, but proper 
TIME to marry. 

510. Son of night, RETIRE; call thy winds and fly: 
Why dost thou come to my presence with thy shadowy 
arms? Do I FEAR thy gloomy form, dismal spirit of 
Loda! Weak is thy shield of clouds; feeble is that 
meteor, thy sword. 

511. My dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields 
of my rest are pleasant. 

DWELL then in thy calm Jield, and let Comhars son be 
forgot. Do my steps ascend, from my hills into thy peace- 
ful plains? Do J meet thee, with a spear, in thy cloud, spirit 
of dismal Loda ? Why, then, dost i\\o\i frown on Fingal ? — 
or shake thine airy spear ? But thou frownest in vain ; I 
never fled from mighty men. And shall the sons of the 
WIND frighten the King of Morven ? NO; he knows the 
weakness of their arms. 

512. Yonder schoolboy, who plays the truant, says, the 
proclamation of peace was NOTHING to the show; and 
even the chairing of the members at election, would not 
have been a finer sight than this ; only that red and green 
are prettier colors than all this mourning. 

513. The text is gospel wisdom. I would ride the 
camel, — yea, LEAP him FLYING, through the needle's 
eye, as easily as such a pampered soul could pass the 
narrow gate. 

514. Why judge you then so hardly of the dead ? For 
what he left UNDONE: — for sins, not one of which is 
mentioned in the ten commandments. 

515. Though you may think of a million strokes in a 
minute, you are required to execute but one. 

516. Not thirty tyrants now enforce the chain, but 
every CARLE can lord it o'er thy land. 

517. HEREDITARY bonomen ! Know ye not, — who 
would be free, THEMSELVES must strike the blow? By 
THEIR right arm the conquest must be wrought: — Will 
Gaul or Muscovite redress ye? — NO! True, they may 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 77 

lay your proud despoilers low : but not for YOU will free- 
dom's altars flame. 

518. A THOUSAND YEARS scarce serve to form a state ; 
an HOUR may lay it in the dust. 

519. He prayed but for life — for life he would give all 
he had in the world ; — it was but LIFE he asked — LIFE, 
if it were to be prolonged under tortures and privations; — 
he asked only breath, though it should be drawn in the 
damps of the lowest caverns of their hills. 

520. I could have bid you LIVE, had life been to you the 
same weary and ivasting burden that it is to me. 

521. Be the combat our OWN ! and we'll* perish or con- 
quer MORE PROUDLY alone ; for we have sworn by our 
country's assaulters, that living we WILL be victorious, or 
that dying our deaths shall be GLORIOUS. 

522. Earth may hide — waves ingulf — FIRE consume 
us, but they SHALL not to slavery doom us. 

523. If they rule, it shall be o'er our ashes and graves : 
but we have smitten them already with Jire on the 
WEAVES, and new triumphs on land are before us. To the 
CHARGE! — Heaven's banner is o'er us. 

524 False Wizard, AVAUNT ! I have marshalled 
my clan : their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are 

ONE. 

525. What means this shouting ? I do fear the people 
choose Caesar for their King. 

Ay, do you FEAR it ? Then must I think you would not 
HAVE it so. 

526. I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke; but 
here I am to speak what I do KNOW. 

527. But yesterday, the word of Csesar might have 
stood against the W^ORLD. Now lies he there, and none so 
poor to do him reverence. 

528. He was my friend, faithful and just to me ; but 
Brutus says he was AMBITIOUS ;=^ and Brutus is an hon- 
orable man. He hath brought many captives home to 

*As this reading is new and original, it may, perhaps, require some de- 
fence. In the first assertion, the emphasis is thrown on the word aiubltious 
because that is the objection made by Brutus against Caesar. The cunning 
Antony then l^rings forward circumstances to prove that Caesar was vot 
ambitious ; and then asserts that Brutus says he was ambitious, notwith- 
standing these arguments in Caesar's defence. Antony then proceeds to pro- 
duce further proof to the contrary; and having brought what he supposes an 
incontrovertible argument in proof of the injustice of the charge, he then 
states the charge as resting merely on the bare assertion of Brutus. Brutus 
says so still. 

7# 



7S INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

Rome, whose ransoms did the general coffers fill : Did this 
in Caesar seem ambitious ? When that the poor have cried, 
Csesar hath wept. Ambition should be made of sterner 
stuff. Yet Brutus says he WAS ambitious; and Brutus is 
an honorable man. You all did see, that on the Lupercal I 
THRICE presented him a kingly crown ; which he did thrice 
refuse. Was this ambition ? Yet Brutus SAYS he was 
ambitious ; and sure he is an honorable man. 

529. O masters ! if I were disposed to stir your hearts and 
minds to mutiny and rage, I should do Brutus wrong, and 
Cassiits wrong, who, you all know, are honorable men, I will 
not do THEM wrong, — I rather choose to wrong the dead — 
to wrong myself and you, — than I will wrong such honorable 
men. 

530. But here 's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar ; 1 
found it in his closet : 'tis his will. Let but the commons 
HEAR this testament, (which, pardon me, I do not mean to 
rkad.,) and they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, and 
dip their napkins in his sacred blood, — yea, beg a hair of 
him for memory, and, dying, mention it within their wills^ 
bequeathing it as a rich LEGACY unto their issue. 

531. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You 
a]l do know this mantle : I remember the first time ever 
Caesar put it on : ('twas on a summer's evening in his tent: 
that day he overcame the Nervii :) — LOOK ! In this place 
ran Cassius' dagger through : see what a rent the envious 
Casca made. Through this, the well-beloved Brutus 
stabbed ; and, as he plucked his cursed steel away, mark how 
the blood of Cddsar followed it ! This was the most unkindest 
cut of all ! for, when the noble Csesar saw HIM stab, IN- 
GRATITUDE, more strong than traitors' arms, quite van- 
quished him ! Then burst his mighty heart : and, in his 
mantle muffling up his face, even at the base of Pompey's 
statue, which all the while ran blood, great Cjesar fell. O 
WHAT a fall was there, my countrymen ! Then J, and you, 
and ALL of us, fell down ; whilst bloody TREASON flour- 
ished over us. 

532. O, now you weep ; and I perceive you feel the dint 
of pity: — these are graciotis drops. Kind souls! What, 
weep you when you but behold our Caesar's vesture wound- 
ed ? Look ye here ! Here is HIMSELF — marred, as you 
see, by traitors. 



INTR0DT7CT0RT LESSONS. 79 

LESSON XXV. 

DISTINCTNESS OF ARTICULATION. 

In order to exercise the voice, and acquire distinctness of articula- 
tion, the pupil is required, in this lesson, to pronounce (as well as he 
can) certain letters, which do not constitute a word, and then the 
words in which the same letters occur. It is- not designed that he 
should call the letters by name, but endeavor to pronounce the sound 
which they represent when united.* 

Sound the folloioing letters, and then the words which foU 
loia, in which the same letters occur. Be particularly care- 
ful to give a clear and distinct sound to every letter. 

Aw. Law, saw, draw. 

Or. For, nor. 

Bd. Orbed, probed. 

Bdst. Robb'dst, prob'dst. 

Bl. Able, table, cable, abominable. 

Bid. Troubl'd, humbl'd, tumbl'd. 

Bldst. Troubl'dst, crumbl'dst, tumbl'dst. 

Biz. Troubles, crumbles, tumbles. 

Blst. Troubl'st, crumbl'st, turabl'st, 

Br. Brand, strand, grand. 

Bs. Ribs, cribs, fibs, nibs. 

* This lesson is deemed by the author one of the most important in the 
book, and indispensably necessary to be carefully practised and often repeated, 
in order to acquire distinctness of articulation. There are some letters and 
syllables, which are very frequently lost by a vicious pronunciation. A native 
Bostonian seldom pronounces the final g in the syllable iiig. The letters 
d. I, r, t, and the syllable ed, frequendy share the fate of the ing, not only 
among- Bostonians, but also among the generality of readers and speakers. 
The svllabie er is almost universally mispronounced, as if it were 7ir. In the 
words riipn-y, and perish, few, if any, mistake the proper sound of the letters 
er ; but in the words mercy and mermaid, there are few who give the proper 
sound of these letters. The letters aw also are frequently mispronounced like or. 
In order that this lesson mav be understood bj' those teachers, who are not 
familiar with the mode in which the sounds of the letters are taught in the 
Boston schools, the author deems it necessary to give the following explanatioa. 
Where two vowels, or a vowel and a consonant, occur together, no difficulty 
will occur in prononiicing the sounds of the letters ; but when several conso- 
nants occur together without a vowel, as in the fourth line of this lesson, where 
B'ist occur together, it must be understood that each of these letters stands 
for a certain sound, although that sound oe not a clear, articulate one; and 
the sounds of each of these letters must be given together, as one syllable, 
before the words robb'st and prob'st, in which they occur, are read. By such 
an exercise the voice will be improved, emd ease acquired in the pronunciation 
of words in which letters of difficult combination occur. 



80 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

CM. Fetch'd. 

DJ. Candle, handle, bridle, saddle. 

Did. Handl'd, bridl'd, saddl'd. 

Dlz. Candles, handles, bridles, saddles. 

Dlst. Fondl'st, handl'st, bridl'st. 

Dr. Drove, draw, drink, drive. 

Dz. Deeds, reeds, feeds, seeds. 

Dth. Breadth, width. 

Dths. Breadths, widths. 

Fl. Flame, fling, flounce, fly, flew. 

Fid. Trifl'd, stifl'd, rifl'd. 

Fist. Trifl'st, stifl'st, rifl'st. 

Flz. Trifles, rifles, stifles, ruffles. 

Fr. Frame, France, frown, front. 

Fs. Laughs, quaffs, staffs, ruffsj muffs. 

Fst. Laugh'st, quaff'st. 

Ft. Waft, raft, graft. 

Fts. Wafts, grafts, rafts. 

Fist. Waft'st, graft'st. 

Gd. Brngg'd, begg'd, pegg'd. 

Gdst. Bragg'dst, begg'dst, pegg'dst. 

Gl. Glow, glance, glide, gluck, glad. 

Gld. Haggl'd, struggi'd, mangi'd, strangl'd. 

Gldst. Haggl'dst, struggl'dst, mangl'dst, strangl'dst 

Glz. Mangles, strangles, struggles. 

Gist. Mangl'st, strangl'st, struggl'st. 

Gr. Grave, grand, grow, grind, ground. 

Gz. Pigs, figs, begs, pegs, cags, nags. 

Gst. Bragg' St, begg'st. 

Jd. Hedged, fledged, wedged, caged. 

Kl. Uncle, carbuncle, ankle, crankle, rinkle 

Kid. RankI'd, tinkl'd, knuckl'd, truckl'd. 

Klz. Truckles, ankles, rinkles, uncles. 

Kht. Truckl'st, rinkl'st, buckl'st. 

Kldst. Truckl'dst, rinkl'dst, buckl'dst. 

Kn. Blacken, broken, spoken. 

Knd. Blacken'd, reckon'd, beckon'd. 

Knz. Blackens, reckons, beckons. 

Knst. Black'nst, reck'nst, beck'nst. 

Kndst. Black'ndst, reck'ndst, beck'ndst. 

K-r. Crony, crumble, crank, crankle. 

Ks. Thinks, brinks, sinks, thanks. 

Kst. Think'st, sink'st, thank'st. 

Ct. Sack'd, thwack'd, crack'd, smack'd. 



mXIiODUCTORY LESSONS. 81 



Lh. Elb, bulb. 

Lbd, Buib'd. 

Lbz, Elbs, balbs. 

Ld. Hold, told, fold, scold, roii'd. 

Ldz. Holds, folds, scolds 

Ldst. Hold'st, fold'st, roLd'st, scold'st 

Lf. Elf, self, shelf 

Lfs. Elfs. 

Lft. Delft. 

Lj. Bulge, bilge. 

Lk. Milk, silk, elk. 

Lkt. Milk'd. 

Lks. Milks, silks, elks. 

Lkts. Mulcts. 

Lm. Elm, whelm, film. 

Lmd. Whelm'd, film'd. 

Lmz. Whelms, films. 

Ln. Fall'n, stol'u, swoH'n. 

Lp. Help, scalp, whelp. 

Lps. Helps, scalps, whelps. 

Lpst. Help'st, scalp'st. 

Ls. False, pulse. 

Lst. Fall'st, call'st, dwell'st. 

Lt. Felt, halt, salt, malt, colt, dolt. 

Lts. Halts, colts, dolts, faults. 

Lv, Shelve, delve, helve. 

Lvd. Shelv'd, delv'd. 

Lvz. Elves, shelves, delves. 

Lz. Balls, stalls, halls, falls, shells. 

Lsh. Filch, milch. 

Lsht. Filched. 

Lth. Health, wealth, stealth. 

Lths. Healths, wealths, stealths. 

Md. Entomb'd, doom'd, room'd. 

Mf. Humphrey. 

3It. Attempt. 

Mts. Attempts. 

Mz. Tombs, catacombs, combs. 

Mst. Entomb'st, comb'st. 

Nd. And, brand, sand, hand, land. 

Ndz. Bauds, sands, hands, lands. 

Ndst. Send'st, defend'st, lend'st, brand'st, 

Nj. Range, strange, mange, grange. 

Njd. Ranged, flanged. 



S2 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



Nk. Rank, think, crank, prank, sank. 

Nh. Ranks, thinks, cranks, pranks. 

Nkst. Rank'st, thank'st, think'st, sank'st. 

Nt. Sent, rent, went, bent, lent, trent. 

Ntst. Want'st, went'st, sent'st, lent'st. 

Nts. Wants, rents, scents. 

Nz. Fins, bans, scans, mans, fans. 

Nsh. Flinch, linch, pinch, bench. 

Nsht. Flinch'd, pinch'd, bench'd, drench'd. 

Nst. Winced. 

Ngd. Hanged, banged, prolonged. 

Ngz. Songs, tongs, prolongs. 

Ngth. Length, strength. 

PI. Pluck, ply, plain, plume. 

Pld. Rippled, tippled. 

Plz. Ripples, tipples, apples. 

Plst. Ripplest, tipplest. 

Pr. Pray, prance, prince, prime, prayer 

Ps. Claps, raps, sips, nips, dips. 

Pst. Rapp'st, sipp'st, nipp'st, dipp'st. 

Rh. Herb, barb, disturb. 

Rhd. Barb'd. 

Rhs. Herbs, barbs. 

Rhst. Barb'st, disturbsta. 

Rbdst. Barb'dst. 

Rd. Bard, word, hard, lard, heard. 

Rds. Bards, words, interlards. 

Rdst. Heard'st, fear'dst, appear'dst. 

Rf. Surf, scurf, scarf, wharf. 

Rft. Wharf 'd, scarf 'd, scurf'd. 

Rg. Burgh. 

Rgz. Burghs. 

Rj. Barge, large, dirge, charge. 

Rjd. Urged, enlarged, charged. 

Rk. Hark, lark, ark, dark, stark. 

Rkt. Hark'd, work'd, dirk'd. 

Rks. Harks, works, dirks, arks. 

Rkst. Work'st, embark'st, dirk'st. 

Rktst. Bark'dst, embark'dst, dirk'dst. 

Rl. Snarl, marl, whirl, dirl, girl, hurl. 

Rid. Snarl'd, hurl'd, world. 

Rlz. Snarls, hurls, whirls. 

Rlst. Snarl'st, hurl'st, whirl'st. 

Rldst. Snarl'dst, hurl'dst, whirl'dst. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 83 



Rm. Arm, harm, farm, alarm. 

Rmd. Arm'd, harm'd, alarm'd, warm'd. 

Rmz. Anns, harms, alarms, warms. 

Rmst. Arm'st, harm'st, alarm'st, warm'st. 

R/ndst. Arm' dst, harm'dst, alarm' dst. 

Rn. Burn, spurn, turn, fern. 

Rnd. Burn'd, spurn'd, turn'd. 

Rnt. Burnt, learnt. 

Rnz. Urns, burns, turns, spurns. 

Rnst. Earn'st, learn'st. 

Rndst. Earn'dst, learn'dst. 

Rp. Harp, carp, warp. 

Rpt. Harp'd, carp'd, warp'd. 

Rps. Harps, carps, warps. 

Rs. Hearse, verse, terse. 

Rst. First, erst, worst, burst. 

Rsts. Bursts. 

Rt. Heart, dart, mart, hart, part, art. 

Rts. Harts, darts, marts, parts, arts. 

Rtst. Hurt'st, dart'st, part'st. 

Rv. Curve, swerve, carve. 

Rvd. Curv'd, swerv'd, nerv'd. 

Rvz. Curves, swerves, nerves. 

Rvst. Curv'st, swerv'st, nerv'st. 

Rvtst. Curv'dst, swerv'dst, nerv'dst. 

Rz. Errs, avers, prefers, offers, scoffers* 

Rch. Search, lurch, birch, church. 

Rcht. Search'd, church'd. 

Rsh. Harsh, marsh. 

Rth. Hearth, earth, birth, dearth, mirth. 

Rths. Hearths, earths, births. 

Sh. Ship, shut, shun, shine, share. 

Skt. Push'd, hush'd, brush'd, crush'd. 

Sk. Mask, risk, brisk, frisk. 

Slct. Mask'd, risk'd, frisk'd. 

Sks. Masks, risks, frisks. 

Skst. Mask'st, risk'st, frisk'st. 

SI. Slay, slew, slain, slim, slink. 

Sid. Nestled, bristled, wrestled. 

Sm. Smoke, smite, smart, small, smack. 

Sn, Snail, snarl, snort, snag. 

Sp. Spurn, spank, spirt, spa. 

Sps. Whisps, lisps. 



S4 rNTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

St. Starve, stay, stock, strike. 

Str. Strain, strong, strive, strung. 

Sts. Busts, Justs, masts, fasts, blasts. 

Tk. Thine, thee, thai, those, there. 

Tk Thin, thistle, thief. 

7'hd. Wreathed, breathed, sheathed. 

T/iz. Wreathes, breathes, sheathes. 

Thst. Wreath'st, breath'st, sheath'st. 

Tl. Little, title, whittle, bottle, settle, nettle 

Tld. Settled, whittled, bottled, nettled. 

Tlz. Baitles, whittles, bottles, nettles, settles 

list. Settl'st, whittl'st, bottl'st, nettl'st. 

Tldsf. Settl'dst, whittl'dst, botti'dst. 

Tr. Travels, trinket, trunk, contrive. 

Tz. Hats, flits, cats, bats, mats, brats. 

Tst. Combat'st. 

Vd. Swerved, nerved, curved, loved. 

Vdst. Liv'dst, nerv'dst, curv'dst, swerv'dst 

VI. Swivel, drivel, grovel, novel. 

Vld. Drivel'd, grovel'd. 

Viz. Drivels, swivels, grovels, nove s. 

Vlst. Drivel'st, grovel'st. 

Vldst. Drivel'dst, grovel'dst. 

Vn. Driven, riven, heaven. 

Vz. Lives, drives, swerves, nerves. 

Vst. Liv'st. 

Zl. Muzzle, dazzle. 

Zid. Muzzl'd, dazzl'd. 

Zlz. Muzzles, dazzles. 

Zlst. Muzzl'st, dazzi'st. 

Zldst. Muzzl'dst, dazzl'dst. 

Zm. Spasm, chasm. 

Zmz. Spasms, chasms. 

Zn. Prison, risen, mizzen. 

Zjid. Lnprisoned, reasoned. 

Znz. Prisons. 

Znst. Imprison'dst. 

The pupil, havins been required to pronounce the letters 
and words in the preceding exercise, may now read the fol- 
lowing sentences, in which he must be particularly careful to 
pronounce clearly and distinctly every letter which is not 
silent. The sentences must be read very slowly. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 85 

533. Deeply possess your mind with the vast importance 
of a orood iudiTment, and the inestimable advantao-e of rig-ht 
reasoning. 

534. Review the instances of your own misconduct in life. 

535. Think seriously how many follies and sorrows you 
might have escaped, and how much guilt and misery you 
might have prevented, if from your early years you had 
taken pains to judge correctly, concerning persons, times, 
and things. 

5o6. This will awaken you with lively vigor to the work 
of improving your reasoning powers, and seizing every 
opportunity and advantage for that end. 

537. Consider the weakness, frailties, and mistakes of 
human nature in general ; the depth and the difficulty of 
many truths, and the flattering appearances of fal-sehood. 

53S. Whence arise the infinite varieties of dangers to 
which we are exposed in our judgment of things'? 

539. Contrive and practise some suitable methods to ac- 
quaint yourself with your own ignorance, and to impress 
your mind with a deep and painful sense of the low and 
imperfect degrees of your present knowledge. 

540. Presume not too much upon a bright genius, a ready 
wit, and good parts; for these, without labor and study, will 
never make a man of knowledge and wisdom. 

In order to shoio the pupil the difference betioeen distinct 
and indistinct articulation, the following extract is presented; 
the left-hand column being printed as the piece is frequently/ 
read by pupils at school, and the right-hand column exhibit- 
ins the same as it should be articulated. 



'is 



541. The young of all an-| 541. The young of all an- 
muls pear treceive playzhuiimals appear to receive pleas- 
from the excise of thlimbs ure from the exercise of 



an bodly facties, without ref- 
frence t enny end ter be 
tained, ur enny use tbe ansd 
by theexshun. 

542. Ur chile without 

knowin enny thing er the 

use er languige zin er high 

dgree dlighted with bin abe 
ter speak. 

8 



their limbs and bodily facul- 
ties, without reference to 
any end to be attained, and 
any use to be answered, by 
the exertion. 

542. A child, without 
knowing any thing of the 
use of language, is in a high 
degree delighted with being 
able to speak. 



86 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



543. Its incessant repeti- 
tion of a few articulate 
sounds, or perhaps of a sin- 
gle word, which it has learn- 
ed to pronounce, proves this 
point clearly. 

544. Nor is it less pleased 
with its first successful en- 
deavors to walk, or rather to 
run, which precedes walknig; 
although entirely ignorant of 
the importance of the attain- 
ment to its future life, and 
even without applying it to 
any present purpose. 

545. A child is delighted 
with speaking, without hav- 
ing any thing to say ; and 
with walking, without know- 
ing whither to go. 

546. And previously to 
both these, it is reasonable 
to believe that the waking 
hours of infancy are agreea- 
bly taken up with the exer- 
cise of vision, or perhaps, 
more properly speaking, with 
learning to see. 

In reading the above sentences in the right-hand column, 
the pupil must be particularly careful to pronounce clearly 
and distinctly all the sounds which he finds omitted in the 
left-hand column, particularly the syllableing, the letters d, n, 
t, aTid all the proper vowel sounds. 



543. Its cessant reption 
uv er few ticlate sounds or 
praps of a single word, which 
it has lunned ter pnmounce, 
proves this point clilly. 

544. Nor ist less pleased 
with its fust successful deav- 
urs ter walk, or rath ter run, 
which purcedes walkin, al- 
though tirely ignurunt er 
th importance er th attain- 
munt tits futur life, an even 
without plyin it ter enny 
present purps. 

545. Childs dlighted with 
speak without hav enny 
thing tur say, an with Malk 
without known wither ter 
go. 

546. An prevesly ter both 
these sreasonable ter blieve 
that the wake hours funcy 
ragreebly take up with thex- 
cise vish, or praps more 
prop speak, with learn ter 
see. 



LESSON XXYI. 

MANNER, OR EXPRESSION. 

In this lesso7i, the pupil is required to adapt the manner 
of his reading to the meaning of the sentences which he is to 
read; and endeavor to imitate, as closely as possible^ the 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 87 

tones which nature teaches him to use in common conversa- 
tion, or when he is affected hy strong feelings. Thus^ if he 
have such a sentence as the following to read, — 

'* Sirrah, savage, dost thou pretend to be ashamed of my 
company ? Dost thou know that I have kept the best com- 
pany in England ? " — 

He tvill of course read it in quite a different manner from 
that which he would use in this which follows : 

"Are .you sick, Hubert? You look pale to-day. In 
sooth, I would you were a little sick, that I might sit all 
night and watch with you. I warrant I love you more than 
you do me." 

[T%e following sentence should he read in an angry 
manner.'] 

547. Father, what sort of a tree is that which you have 
given me? It is as dry as a broomstick; and I shall not 
have ten apples on it. You have treated my brother Ed- 
mund better than you have me. You have given him a tree 
which is full of apples. You ought to make him give me 
half of them. 

[The following should be read in a milder manner.] 

548. Give you half of them? Your tree was as fruitful 
and in as good order as his ; but you have not taken good 
care of it. Edmund has kept his tree clear of hurtful in- 
sects; but you have suffered them to eat up yours in its 
blossoms. I shall not direct him to share his apples with so 
idle a boy as you have been. 

[To be read in a respectful, calm, but decided manner.] 

549. Alexander! I am your captive — I must hear what 
you please to say, and endure what you please to inflict. 
But my soul is unconquered ; and if I reply at all to your 
reproaches, I will reply like a free man. 

[ To he read in a threatening manner.] 

550. He DARES not touch a hair of Catiline. 

551. [With surprise.] What! does life displease thee? 
[Calmly, but ivith emphasis.] Yes; — it displeases me 

when I see a tyrant. 

552. [Mildly.] The sun not set yet, Thomas? Not quite, 
sir. It blazes through the trees on the hill yonder, as if 
their branches were all on fire. 



SS INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

553. [With energy.] Sirrah, I begin with this kick, as 
a tribute to your boasted honor. Get you into the boat, 
or I will give you another. I am impatient to have you 
condemned. 

554. [ With moderation.'] Stranger, if thou hast learnt a 
truth, which needs experience more than reason, that the 
world is full of guilt and misery ; and hast known enough 
of all its sorrows, crimes, and cares, to tire thee of it — 
enter this wild wood, and view the haunts of nature. 

555. [Proudly and haughtily *] Do you pretend to sit 
as high on Olympus as Hercules? Did you destroy tyrants 
and robbers? You value yourself greatly on subduing one 
serpent. I did as much as that while I lay in my cradle. 

556. [With fear.] Mirza, terror and doubt are come 
upon me. I am alarmed as a man who suddenly perceives 
that he is on the brink of a precipice, and is urged forward 
by an irresistible force; but yet I know riot whether my 
danger is a reality or a dream. 

557. [In a threatening manner.] I know thou art a scoun- 
drel ! Not pay thy debts! Kill thy friend who lent thee 
money, for asking thee for it! Get out of my sight, or I 
will drive thee into the Styx, 

558. [In a commanding manner.] Stop, I command thee. 
No violence. Talk to him calmly. 

559. [In a solemn manner.] Such are the excuses which 
irreligion offers Could you have believed that they were so 
empty, so unworthy, so hollow, so absurd? And shall such 
excuses be offered to the God of heaven and earth? By 
such apologies shall man insult his Creator? 

560. [In a mournful manner.] Oh, my dear, dear mother ! 
don't you know your son ! your poor boy, George ? 

561. [In a terrified manner.] The Lord have mercy upon 
us — what is this ? 

562. [In a proud, disdainful manner.] Why then dost 
thou frown on Fingal ? Or shake thine airy spear? But 
thou frownest in vain : I never fled from mighty men. And 
shall the sons of the wind frighten the King of Morven ? 
No ; he knows the weakness of their arms. 

563. [In an energetic manner.] Now launch the boat 
upon the wave, — the wind is blowing off the shore — I will 
not live a cowering slave on these polluted islands more. 



* See Number 128, page 33. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 89 

Beyond the wild, dark, heaving sea, there is a better home 
for me. 

564. [In a plaintive, sorrowful manner.'^ O Switzerland ! 
my country! 'tis to thee I strike my harp in agony: — My 
country! nurse of liberty, home of the gallant, great, and 
free, my sullen harp I strike to thee. Oh ! 1 have lost you 
all! — parents, and home, and friends. 

565. [Wifh^ quickness and emphasis.] Talk to me of 
dangers? — Death and shame! — is not my race as high, as 
ancient, and as proud as thine? By heaven, it grieves me, 
Harry Percy, preaching such craven arguments to me. 

566. [With humility.'] Father, I have sinned against 
heaven, and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be 
called thy son. 

567. [With horror.] How frightful the grave! how de- 
serted and drear! with the howls of the storm wind — the 
creaks of the bier, and the white bones all clattering together. 

568. [ FFiYA calmness.] How lovely, how sweet the repose 
of the tomb ! No tempests are there ; — but the nightin- 
gales come, and sing their sweet chorus of bliss. 

569. [In an authoritative manner.] Heat me these irons 
hot ; and look thou stand within the arras : when I strike 
my foot upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, and bind 
the boy, which you shall find with me, fast to the chair : be 
heedful : hence, and watch. 

570. [In a supplicating tone.] Alas ! what need you be 
so boisterous rough? I will not struggle, I will stand stone- 
still. For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! 
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away, and I will sit 
as quiet as a lamb ; I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a 
word, nor look upon the irons angrily; thrust but these men 
away, and I'll forgive you, whatever tormentsyou do put me to. 

571. [Solemn caution.] Lochiel ! Lochiel, beware of the 
day when the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array ! for 
a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, and the clans of 
Culloden are scattered in fight. 



ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 

572. 

Martial DescriptioH*. 

'T was at the royal feast for Persia won 
By Philip's warlike son, 



90 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

Awe. 

Aloft, in awful state, 
The godlike hero sate 
On his imperial throne. 

Admiration. 

His valiant peers were placed around. 

Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound . 

So should desert in arms be crown'd. 

Deli.'ht. 

The lovely Thais, by his side, 
Sat like a blooming Eastern bride, 
In flower of youth, and beauty's pride. 

Rapture. 

Happy, happy, happy pair! 
None but the brave. 
None but the brave. 

Triumph. 

None but the brave, deserve the fair. 
573. 

Description. 

Timotheus, placed on high, 

Amid the tuneful choir. 

With flying fingers touch'd the lyre: 
The trembling notes ascend the sky. 

And heavenly joys inspire. 
The song began from Jove, 
Who left his blissful seat above — 
Such is the power of mighty love ! — 

Awe. 

A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 
Sublime on radiant spheres he rode. 
When he to fair Olympia press'd 
And stamp'd an image of himself, a sovereign of the world 
The listening crowd admire the lofty sound: 

Surprise increased. 

" A present deity!" they shout around; — 

" A present deity !" the vaulted roofs rebound. 

With ravish'd ears 

The monarch hears, 

Importunce. 

Assumes the god. 
Affects to nod. 
And seems to shake the spheres. 



INTRODTJCTORY LESSONS. 91 



574. 



Jovial description. 

The praise of Bacchus, then the sweet musician sung, 
Of Bacchus, ever fair and young ! 

The jolly god in triumph comes ! 

Sound the trumpets ! beat the drums ! 

Flush'd with a purple grace, 

He shows his honest face. 

Inciting. 

Now give the hautboys breath.- — He comes! he comes! 
Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
Drinking joys did first ordain. 

Bacchanalian rapture. 

Bacchus' blessings are a treasure ; 
Drinking is the soldier's pleasure. 
Rich the treasure, 
Sweet the pleasure; 
Sweet is pleasure after pain ! 

575. 

Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 
Foucrht all his battles o'er again : 

-Swelling. 

And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain! 

Oi)serving. 

The master saw the madness rise ; 
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes: {rapidly.) 
And while he heaven and earth defied, 
(Slowly.) Chang'd his hand, and check'd his pride.* 

576. 

Sorrowful. 

He chose a mournful muse, 
Soft pity to infuse; {very slowly.) 
He sung Darius great and good ! 
By too severe a fate, 

Fallen! fallen! fallen! fallen! — {gradually sinking.) 
{Louder.) Fallen from his high estate, 
And weltering in his blood ! 



' * There should be a transition in the voice here, as in the strain of Timo- 
theus, from heroic to pathetic ; as rapid too. 



92 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

Reproach. 

Deserted at his utmost need 
By those liis former bounty fed, 
On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
With not a friend to close his eyes ! 

Reflection. 

With downcast look the joyless victor sate, 
Revolving, in his alter'd soul. 

The various turns of fate below ; 
And now and then a sigh he stole, 

Pity. 

And tears began to flow ! 
577. 

Secret satisfaction. 

The mighty master smiled, to see 
That love was in the next degree : 
'Twas but a kindred sound to move ; 
-For pity melts the mind to love, [rapidly^ 
Softly sweet, in Lydian measures, changed to 
Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. livdy.) 

Remonstrance. 

War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
Honor, but an empty bubble; 
Never ending, still .beginning. 

Fighting still, and still destroying. 

Requesting 

If the world be worth thy winning, 
Think, oh, think it worth enjoying! 

Admiration. 

Lovely Thais sits beside thee, 

Take the good the gods provide thee. 

Bur-its of apprcjbation. 

The many rend the skies with loud applause: 
So love was crown'd; but music won the cause. 

57S. 
The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 

Pensive. 

Gazed on the fair. 
Who caused his care, 

Effeminately. 

And sigh'd and look'd, sigh'd and look'd 
Sigh'd and look'd, and sigh'd again : 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



93 



At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, 
The vanquish'd victor — sunk upon her breast! 

579. 

Burst of voice.* 

Now strike the golden lyre again ! 

A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 

Break his bands of sleep asunder, 

And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder ! 

Amazement. 

Hark! hark! — the horrid sound 

Has raised up his head, 

As awaked from the dead; 
And, amazed, he stares around. • 

580. 

Inciting fiiriously. 

Revenge! revenge! Timotheus cries — 
See the furies arise ! 
See the snakes that they rear, 
How they hiss in their hair, 
And the sparkles that flash from their eyes! (rapidly.') 
Behold a ghastly band. 
Each a torch in his hand. 
These are Grecian ghosts, that in battle were slain, 
And, unburied, remain 
Inglorious on the plain. 
Give the vengeance due 
To the valiant crew! 
Behold! how they toss their torches on high, 
How they point to the Persian abodes. 
And glittering temples of their hostile gods. 

581. 

Breathless eagerness. 

The princes applaud, with a furious joy: t 

And the king seized a flambeau, with zeal to destroy ; 

Tliais led the way, 

To light him to his prey I 

Burst, 

And, like another Helen, fired — another Troy. 

* The burst upon " rouse ; " dwelling on tlie consonant r, trilled by the 
tongue against the unper gum. 

t The princes — appiaud ~- with a furious — joy ; 
And the king- — seized a flambeau — with zeal -= to destroy, &c. 



94 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

582. 

Narrative manner. 

Thus, long ago, 
Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 
While organs yet were mute, 
Timotheus, to his breathing flute 

And sounding lyre. 
Could swell the soul to rage, or kindle soft desire. 

5S3. 

Pleasure. 

At last, divine Cecilia came, 
Inventress of the vocal frame. 
•The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
And added length to solemn sounds, 
With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. 

Concluding. 

Let old Timotheus yield the prize. 
Or both divide the crown : 

Awe. 

He raised a mortal to the skies ; 

Delight. 

She drew an angel down. — Dry den. 

584. 

Disdain. 

Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer! 
Or, if gory Cuiloden so dreadful appear, 
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight. 
This no an tie J to cover the phantoms of fright. 



LESSON XXVII. 

PITCH OF THEVOICE. 

Every perso7i has three keys, or pitcJies of the voice, called 

THE HIGH, THE MIDDLE aild THE LOW KEY. 

The HIGH KEY is that which is used in calling to a person 
at a distance. 



INTRODITCTORY LESSONS. 95 

The MIDDLE KEY ^5 that ivhich is used in common con- 
vcrsation. 

The LOW KEY is that ivhich is used ichen ice loish no one to 
hear, except the person to whom ice speak ; and is almost, hut 
^ot quite, a ichisper. 

Each one of these keys or pitches of the voice has different 
degrees of loudness ; and it is important that the pupil should 
exercise his voice in speaking, in all of these keys, both with 
mildness and with force. 

[The pupil may read the following sentence in each of the 
different keys.'\ 

585. They have rushed through like a hurricane ; like an 
army of locusts they have devoured the earth; the war has 
fallen like a uater-spout, and deluged the land with blood. 

[Read the following in the high key.] 

586. Next Anger rushed ; — his eyes on fire, in lightnings 
owned his secret stings; in one rude clash he struck his 
lyre, and swept with hurried hands the strings. 

[Read the following in the low key.] 

587. With woful measures wan Despair — low, sullen 
sounds his grief beguiled : — a solemn, strange, and min- 
gled air: — 'twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. 

[Read the following in the middle key.] 

588. But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, what was thy 
delighted measure ? Still it whispered promised pleasure, 
and bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! 

589. [Read with the high kty.] But, w^ith a fi^own. Re- 
venge impatient rose. He threw his blood-stained sword in 
thunder down ; and, with a withering look, the war-denoun- 
cing trumpet took, and blew a blast so loud and dread, were 
ne'er prophetic -sounds so full of woe. And ever and anon 
he beat the doubling drum with furious heat : [Loiu key, 
very sloioly.] and though, sometimes, each dreary pause be- 
tween, dejected Pity, at his side, her soul-subduing voice 
applied, [High key, rapidly.] yet still he kept his wild, un- 
altered mien, while each strained ball of sight seemed burst- 
ing from his head. 

590. [Middle key.] Alexander the Great demanded of a 
pirate, whom he had taken, by what right he infested the 
seas. " By the same right," replied the pirate, " that Alexan- 
der enslaves the world. But 1 am called a robber, because I 
have only one small vessel ; and he is styled a conqueror, 
because he commands great fleets and armies." 



96 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

LESSON XXVIII 

TRANSITION. 



[It is important that the pupil practise a change or transi- 
tion of the voice from loud and forcible utterance to a softer 
and lower tone ; and from rapid to slow pronunciation. In 
this lesson he is presented with a few examples in which 
such a change of manner is required.] 

591. [Softly and sloicly.'\ An hour passed on. The 
Turk awoke. That bright dream was his last. [More 
loudly.'] He woke — to hear the sentry's shriek, [Very loud 
and rapid.] '' To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! " 
[Slowly and softly.] He woke to die midst flame and smoke, 
and shout and groan, and sabre stroke, and [Faster and 
louder.] death shots falling thick and fast, as lightnings from 
the mountain cloud ; [Still louder.] and heard, with voice 
as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band ; [Very loud, rap- 
idly, and with much animation.] Strike — till the last armed 
foe expires — Strike — for your altars and your fires — Strike — 
for the green graves of your sires, God — and your native land. 

[In a softer and sloiver manner.] They fought — like brave 
men, long and well, — they piled that ground with Moslem 
slain, — they conquered — [Very slowly, and in a mournful 
manner.] but Bozzaris fell, bleeding at every vein. 

592. [In a gentle manner and low tone.] When, doffed 
his casque, he felt free air, around 'gan* Marmion wildly 
stare : — [Much louder, and in a wild and somewhat angry 
manner.] "Where's Harry Blount? Fitz Eustace, where? 
Linger ye here, ye hearts of hare? Redeem my pennon, — 
charge again! Cry — 'Marmion to the rescue.' — [Very 
slowly, and almost in a lohisper.] Vain ! Last of my race, 
on battle plain that shout shall ne'er be heard again ! [In- 
creasing in loudness.] Yet my last thought is England's : — 
[Louder, and with more earnestness.] fly — Fitz Eustace, to 
Lord Surrey hie. [More rapidly.] Tunstall lies dead upon 
the field ; his life-blood stains the spotless shield : Edmund 
is down, — my life is reft, — the Admiral alone is left. 

** A aoQtraction for began. See Apostrophe, Lesson 20, pag^e 64 



INTKODU'CTORY LESSONS. 97 

[With much earnestness of mamur.'] Let Stanley charge 
with spur of fire, with Chester charge and Lancashire, full 
upon Scotland's central host, [Slowl'i/.'j or victory and Eng- 
land's lost. [Afigrili/.'\ Must I bid twice? — hence, varlets ! 
fly! Leave Marmion here alone — to die." 

593. [Distinctly , slowly, and in a moderate fone.^ Yet 
still Lord Marm ion's falcon flew with wavering flight, while 
fiercer grew around the battle yell. [Loudly and quickly.] 
" A Home ! a Gordon ! " was the cry. 

594. [Slowly and with feeling.] Oh, what a fall was there, 
my countrymen ! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, 
[Loudly and loith emphasis.] while bloody treason flourished 
over us. 

595. [Softly and slowly.] Oh, now you weep ; and I per- 
ceive you feel the dint of pity: — these are gracious drops. 
Kind souls! [Quickly, louder, and with strong emphasis.] 
What, weep you when you but behold our Caesar's VES- 
TURE wounded ? [ Very loudly and earnestly.] Look ye 
here ! — here is HIMSELF — marred as you see by traitors. 

596. [ Very slowly and sorroiofully .] Oh, I could play 
the woman with mine eyes, and braggart with my tongue ! — 
[With earnestness^ louder, and rapidly.] But, gentle heaven, 
cut short all intermission ; front to front, bring thou this 
fiend of Scotland and myself; [Still more forcibly , hut with 
a loiaer tone.] within my sword's length set him; if he 
escape, heaven forgive him too. 

597. [Proudly, and tmth a loud and angry manner.] But 
here I stand and scoff" you; — here I fling hatred and defi- 
ance in your face. [In a much milder manner, slowly, and in 
derision.] Your consul's* merciful — For this — all thanks. 
[Very loud, and in a threatening manner. See Number 
550,] He dares not touch a hair of Catiline. 

59S. [In a lo^v tone, very softly.] His words do take pos- 
session of my bosom, — [Louder, and with earnestness.] 
Read here, young Arthur. [Very softly.] How now, fool- 
ish rheum ! turning despiteous torture out the door ! I must 
be brief, lest resolution drop out at my eyes in tender, 
womanish tears. — [Louder, and as if striving to hide his 
tears.] Can you not read it ? Is it not fair writ 1 

* The pupil will notice that there are many abbreviations of this kind made 
in this book in pieces which appear to be prose. All the sentences which are 
poetical have been printed in ihe form of prose, to prevent the "sing song" 
manner of reading. But it must be understood and recollected, that although 
abbreviaiioHs are allowable in poetrv, thev are not admitted in prose. 

9 



98 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

599. ySlowly, and in a very sad manne7\] Too fairly, 
Hubert, for so foul effect. [In an entreating manner.^ 
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? 

[In a stern manner.'\ Young boy, I must. 

\_In a very sorrowful and supplicating manner.'] And 
will you? 

[Sternly, and in an apparently determined manner.] And 
I will. 

600. [With a very earnest, sorrowful, and entreating 
manner.'] Will you put out mine eyes? These eyes that 
never did, nor never shall, so much as frown on you? 

601. [In a rough manner, but still struggling to conceal 
his pity.] I have sworn to do it ; and with hot irons must 1 
burn them out. 

602. [In a very pathetic manner.] If an angel should 
have come to me, and told me, Hubert should put out niua« 
eyes, I would not have believed no tongue but Hubert's.* 

603. [In a kind, rehmting, and very feeling manner.] 
Well — see to live; I will not touch thine eyes, for all the 

treasure that thy uncle owes. [In a slow, solemn, and 

decided manner.] Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy, 
with this same very iron to burn them out. 

604. [In a joyful and grateful manner.] O, now you 
look like Hubert! all this while you were disguised. 

605. [In an animated manner.] The combat deepens — 
[ Very loud, rapidly, and with much energy.] On, ye brave, 
who rush to glory, or the grave! Wave, Munich, all thy 
banners wave ; and charge with all thy chivalry. 

606. [In a slow, solemn, and mournful manner] Ah, few 
shall part where many meet! The snow shall be their 
winding-sheet, and every turf beneath their feet shall be a 
soldier's sepulchre. 

* This expression, " I would not have believed no tongiie. but Hubert's," is a 
grammatical error, hardly sanctioned even by the great name of Shakspeare, 
from whom it was taken. The poets frequently have great liberties allowed 
them under tlie name of poetic license; and the name of Shakspeare " honors tins 
corruption." Were it known to a certainty that he was a classical scholar, 
the expression above quoted migiU be pardoned as an idin/ism, or imitation of 
the Greek construction, in which, double negatives are frequently used lo 
sirengthen the negation. — See Par/rer mid Fox's Graiainar, Part If. pa.ze 
47. No. \C6, ami Andrews avd Stoddard's f.atin Grmnmar, pave 303, 
^ 3'i5, No. 6, edition of 18:56. — Shakspeare and (""owper both use the; expres- 
sions, " V hod as lief not /;>>,•' and " T A^rid much rather l)e;" thus joining the 
auxiliary of the phipcrCecl tense with the present. — See Parker and Fox\s 
Grammar, Part II. page 54. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 99 

LESSON XXIX. 

ELLIPTICAL SENTENCES. 

An Ellipsis * means an omission ; and when any thing is 
omitted, or purposely left out, it is said that there is an ellip- 
sis in the sentence, and the sentence is called an elliptical 
sentence. 

Elliptical sentences occur very frequently ; and it is 
necessary, in reading such sentences, to supply, in our 
minds, all that is omitted, in order to give the proper tone, 
accent, emphasis, and expression. Thus in the following 
questions, — " What went ye out into the wilderness to see? 
A reed shaken by the wind 1 " — there is an ellipsis or omis- 
sion of the words " did you go out to see; " and when these 
words are supplied, the questions will he, "What went ye 
out into the wilderness to see? Did you go out to see a 
reed shaken by the wind ? 

Elliptical sentences must always he read in the same 
manner, icith the same emphasis, tone, accent, and expression, 
that they would be if the ellipses were supplied. 

In every elliptical sentence, a pause should he made at 
every ellipsis long enough to pronounce, or rather to think 
over, the words which are omitted. 

In the following sentences, the ellipsis is supplied in Italic 
letters, in the form of a parenthesis. The pupil will frst 
read them as they stand, and then read them with the omis- 
sion of those pai-ts which are in Italic letters. 

607. What sought they thus afar? (Did they seek) 
Bright jewels of the mine? [Did they seek) The wealth 
of seas? {or) the spoils of war? {No, they did not seek 
either of these, but) They sought a faith's pure shrine. 

608. What, then, would it be reasonable to expect from 
the fanciful tribe, from the musicians and poets of such a 
region? [Would it be reasonable to expect) Strains ex- 
pressive of joy, tranquillity, or the softer passions? No; 

— « 

'^ See Lesson 19, page Q2. 



100 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

their style must have been better suited to their circum- 
stances. 

609. Art thou the Thracian robber, of whose exploits I 
have heard so much? 

(No ! I am not a Thracian rohher^ hut) I am a Thra- 
cian, and a soldier. 

[Do you call yourself) A soldier? (/ consider you as 
nothing better than) a thief, a plunderer, an assassin ! 
{who is) the pest of the country. 

610. No deep and deadly quarrel was between these 
brothers, and neither of them could distinctly tell the cause 
of this unnatural estrangement. Perhaps dim jealousies 
of their father's favor {was the cause of this -unnatural 
estrangement — perhaps) selfish thoughts that will some- 
times force themselves into poor men's hearts respect- 
mg temporal expectations (ivas the cause of this unnatural 
estrangement — .perhaps) unaccommodating manners on both 
sides (were the cause of this unnatural estrangement -^—per- 
haps) taunting words that mean little when uttered, but 
which rankle and fester in remembrance, or imagined op- 
position of interests, that, duly considered, would have been 
found one and the same, {were the causes of this unnatural 
estrangement) — these and many other causes, slight when 
single, but strong when rising up together in one baneful 
band, had gradually, but fatally infected their hearts, till at 
last they who in youth had been seldom separate, and truly 
attached, now met at market, and, miserable to say, (not 
only at market, hut even also) at church, with dark and 
averted faces, like different clansmen during a feud. 

611. What shall we call them? (Shall we call them) 
Piles of crystal light? — (Shall we call them) A glorious 
company of golden streams — (Shall we call them) Lamps 
of celestial ether burning bright — (or) suns lighting sys- 
tems with their joyous beams ? But thou to these art as the 
noon to night. 

612. Hail to your lordship! I am glad to see you well. 
(It is) Horatio (who speaks to me,) or 1 do forget myself 

613. (It is) The same, my lord, and (/ am) your poor 
servant ever. 

614. Sir, (you are) my good friend. Pll change that 
name with you. 

615. Ah, whither now are fled those dreams of greatness? 
(Whither now are fled) 'J*hose unsated hopes of happi- 
ness? (Whither now are fled) Those busy, bustling days'? 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 101 

[Whither now are Jied*') Those gay-spent, festive nights, 
{and) those veering thoughts, lost between good and ill, that 
shared thy life 1 

616. Almighty! trembling like a timid child, I hear thy 

avv^ful voice {and when I hear it I am) alarmed — 

{and) afraid. I see the flashes of thy lightning wild, and in 
the very grave would hide my head. 

617. Sourceless and endless God! compared with thee, 
life is a shadowy, {and not only a shadowy, hut also a) mo- 
mentary dream ; and {even) time, when viewed through thy 
eternity, {is) less than the mote of morning's golden beam. 

618. What excuse can the Englishman plead? {Will he 
plead) the custom of duelling? An excuse, this {is) that in 
these regions cannot avail. 

The spirit that made him draw his sword in the combat 
against his friend, is not the spirit of honor ; it is the spirit 
of the furies, {it is the spirit) of Alecto herself {who was 
the chief of the furies.) To her he must go, for she has 
long dwelt in his merciless bosom. 

619. Curse these cowardly covenanters — what {shall we 
do) if they tumble down upon our heads pieces of rock from 
their hiding places? {Shall we) advance? Or {shall we) 
retreat ? 

620. To save a bishop, may I name a dean? {May you 
name) a dean, sir? No; his fortune is not made; you hurt 
a man that's rising in the trade. If {I may) not {name) the 
tradesman who set up to-day, much less {may I name) the 
apprentice who to-morrow may {set up.) 

621. And what are things eternal? Powers depart, {and 
therefore they are not things eternal,) possessions vanish, 
{a?id therefore they are not things eternal,) and opinions 
change, {and therefore they are not things eternal,) and pas- 
sions hold a fluctuating seat, {and therefore they are not 
things eternal;) but, by the storms of circumstance unshaken, 
and subject neither to eclipse nor wane, duty exists — im- 
mutably survives ! What {is there) more that may not 
perish ? 

622. So goes the world ; if {you are) wealthy, you may 

* The ellipsis is supplied at each of these inquiries, to show that the falling 
inflection of the voice is required at each of the questions ; [see Lesson 6tli ;J 
and it will be noticed throughout this lesson that the ellipsis is supplied in 
parentheses in many sentences where it may appear to be superfluous ; but 
the author's design in so doing is to lead more directly to the proper intonation 
of the voice. As a particular mstance of this kind, see No. 615, 616, 
and 618. 



102 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



call this {man your) friend, that {man your) brother; — 
friends and brothers all {vieti will be to you) {or you may call 
all men your friends and brothers.) 

623. I once saw a poor fellow {who was both) keen and 
clever, witty and wise; — he paid a man a visit, and no one 
noticed him, and no one ever gave him a welcome. {It is) 
Strange, cried i ; whence is it {that this man is so much neg- 
lected?) He walked on this side {of the room,) and then on 
that {side of the room. ; *) he tried to introduce a social chat ; 
now here, now there, in vain he tried {to introduce a social 
chat.) Some {persons, when he spoke to them) formally and 
freezingly replied {to him;) and some {persons made him no 
proper anstocr, but) said by their silence, {you would) better 
stay at home {than come here, ivhere you are not wanted.) 

624. A rich man burst the door. {A man who was) 
As Crcesus rich. I'm sure he could not pride himself upon 
his wit ; and as to wisdom, he had none of it. He had 
what's better; he had wealth. What a confusion {there was 
when he eiitered the room!) All {who are in the room) stand 
up erect — These t {persons in this part of the room) crowd 
around to ask him of his health ; {and) these {persons in 
another part of the room) arrange a sofa or a chair, and 
these {persons) conduct him there. {Some said to him,) 
AHow me, sir, the honor {of handing you a chair, or of 
conducting you to it.) Then {they each made) a bow down 
to the earth. Is't possible to show meet gratitude for such 
kind condescension?! 



* This example shows very cleajly how the proper intonation of the voice is 
intimated by supplying the ellipses, although the sense is sufficiently clear as 
the sentence is expressed. 

t It may here be observed, that a pause should be made in every elliptical 
sentence long enough to pronounce, or rather to think over, the words which 
are omitted. The extract above afford.s a clear illustration of this remark. 
See the directions, at the beginning of this lesson. 

J It may perhaps be thought that some ellipses are unnecessarily supplied 
iji the preceding sentences ; but the practical teacher will readily allow that a 
correct analysis is indispensable to the correct reading of a sentence, and that 
the facilities afforded to a child in his Jirst attempts, cannot be too great. It 
will be borne in mind that this book is designed for very young, as well as for 
more advanced pupils. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 103 

LESSON XXX. 

ANTITHESIS. 

The word Antithesis means opposition or contrast. In all 
sentences in which an emphatic word occurs, there is an an- 
tithesis expressed or understood ; and it is necessary tohe able 
to distinguish the ivords which form the antithesis, or which 
are contrasted, in order to ascertain which word should be 
emphasized. Thus, in the sentence given in the introduction 
to the 236? lesson — ''Shall you ride to-town to-day?'' — 
if the answer ie. " No, I shall walk," there is an antithesis, or 
contrast, in the words ride and walk, which shows that ride 
is the emphatic word. Again, if the answer be, " No, I shall 
ride into the country," the antithesis is in the words town and 
country, which shows that the ivord town is the emphatic 
word. Once more, if the answer be, " No, but I shall go 
to-morrow," the antithesis is in the words to-day and to-mor- 
row, which shows that the word to-day is to be emphasized. 

[It is thus seen, that it is necessary that the pupil should study out 
the meaning of a sentence, and be able to form the antithesis upon 
which tlie emphatic words depend, in order to read it correctly and 
expressively. This exercise will often require a degree of judgment 
and discrimination not to be expected in a child, until the assistance of 
the teacher comes to his aid. Indeed, it is this very thing which con- 
stitutes the whole art of reading, and which often renders it a subject 
of deep study even to matured minds. Jt is, however, a subject of 
such paramount importance, that it must not be overlooked or neg- 
lected even in the lessons of very young pupils. The assistance af- 
forded the pupil in tliis lesson, will lead his mind, it is thought, to a 
correct understanding of the subject, and enable him to apply his 
powers successfully to the analysis of other sentences, in which no 
aid is furnished for him.*] 

* The great Importance of a correct understanding' of this principle will be 
seen in llie following pn,.ssages from holy writ, which are frequently read from 
the sacred desk as follows : — 

" As much as lieth in you, live peaceably with all MEN." Now, if the em- 
phasis be thus placed on the word men, it would seem as if the apostle would 
imply that it is a duly to live peaceably with men only, but that with women 
and children we may live in a diflerent manner. But by placing the emphasis 
on the word all, the "inconsistency is removed ; thus, 

" As much as lieth in you, live peaceal)ly with i\.LL men." 

Asfain, in the fourth connnandment, if the emphasis be put on the word day 
as many read it, thus, " Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath DAY," 
it would seem that the jiight might be differendy occupied. The command- 



104 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

In this lesson the emphatic words which form the antithesis 
are printed in capitals^ and the member of the antithesis 
which is understood is supplied in Italic letters betiveen 
crotchets. The pupil will first read the whole passage, and 
then read it with the omission of the part in crotchets. 

625. Mercury, Charon's boat is on the other side of the 
water, {and as there will be time enough before he gets over to 
THIS side) allow me, before it returns, to have some conver- 
sation with the North American savage, whom you brought 
hither at the same time that yoa conducted me to the shades. 

626. Why judge you then so hardly of the dead? 

{I judge so hardly of the dead, not for any thing that 
he has done, but) For what he left undone. 

627. This man of half a million (vms not destitute of 
them, but he) had all these public virtues that you praise. 

628. The darts of anguish {may strike, but they) fix 
not where the seat of suffering hath been thoroughly fortified 
by acquiescence in the will supreme, {not only for a short 
PERIOD, but) for time and for eternity. 

629. Hereditary bondmen! Know ye not, who would 
be free {must not depend upon the assistance of others, but) 
themselves must strike the blow? By their right aim, 
{not by the right arm of others) the conquest must be 
wrought. 

630. Where'er we tread {it is not a common spot, but) 
'tis haunted, holy ground. 

631. Authors of modern date are {not so poor as they 
formerly were, but they are) wealthy fellows. {It is not 
for the benefit of his assistance) 'Tis but to snip his locks 
they follow now the golden-haired Apollo. 

menl undoubtedly should be read, " Remember that thou keep holy the SAB- 
BATH day. 

The following- passage was read from the sacred desk by one of the most 
correct readers of the day, in the hearing of the author of this volume, three 
times, with a false emphasis on the word men; thus, 

" O that MEN would therefore praise the Lord for his goodness, and de- 
clare the wonders that he doeth for the children of men." 

This reading gives rise to tlie question whether women and children, and 
even augels, &.C., should not praise the Lord for his goodness. The emphasis 
undoubtedly should be placed on the word praise; thus, "O that men would 
therefore PRAISE the Lord for his goodness, and declare the WONDERS 
that he doeth for the children of men." 

This principle of antithesis must be carefully studied by all who aim at cor- 
rect reading. The difference in style which characterizes the most eminent 
speakers and readers is much affected by their peculiar understanding of the 
meaning of an author, and of consequence the manner in which they men- 
tally supply the ellipsis forming the antithesis. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 105 

632. Yet none but you by name the guilty lasn , [others 
lash them in a different manner.) 

633. It is often said by inconsiderate men, that time {not 
inclination) is wanted for the duties of religion. 

634. My friends ! [do not he hasty, hut) be cautious 
how ye treat the subject upon which we meet. 

635. Misses ! the tale that I relate [is not intended for 
your diversion alone, hut it) seems to carry this lesson : 
Choose not alone a proper mate, but proper time to marry. 

636. As much as lieth in you, live peaceably with ail 
men, [hut not with all women.) 

637. You did not read that last sentence correctly: for 
by emphasizing the word men, you made it appear as if the 
apostle meant that you might quarrel with women and chil- 
dren, [if you loould live peaceahly with.m^N.) Now, his 
meaning is, that you should live peaceably with all men, 
[not with your friends aloiie, hut ivith all mankind.) 

Therefore you should read it thus : As much as lieth iri 
you, live peaceably with ALL men. 

[Sometimes both the words which constitute the antithesis 
are expressed, as in the folloioing sentence. '\ 

63S. It is from untamed passions, not from wild beasts, 
that the greatest evils arise to human society. 

639. By wisdom, by art, by the united strength of a civil 
community, men have been enabled to subdue [not only one 
SINGLE lion, hear, or serpent, hut) the whole race of lions, 
bears, and serpents. 



LESSON XXXI. 

ENUMERATION. 

JVhcn a numher of particulars are mentioned in a sentence^ 
it is called an Enumeration. 

In many sentences of this hind, it is proper to use the fall- 
ing infection of the voice at each of the suhjects of the enu- 
meration, except the last hut one, which should he read with 
the rising infection. The following sentences are of this 



106 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

kind. In order to assist the pupil, the acute and grave ac- 
cents are used to designate the injlections of the voice, accords 
ing to the principles stated in Lesson 22, page 70. 

640. But who the melodies of morn can tell? — The wild 
brook babbling down the mountain's side; the lowing herd; 
the sheepfoid's simple bell ; the pipe of early shepherd, dim 
descried in the lone valley ; echoing far and wide, the clam- 
orous horn along the cliffs above ; the hollow murmur of 
the ocean tide; the hum of bees; the linnet's lay of love; 
and the full choir * that wakes the universal grove. 

641. Oh, how canst thou renounce the boundless store of 
charms that Nature to her votary yields! The warbling 
woodland, the resounding shore, the pomp of groves, the 
garniture of fields; all that the genial ray of morning gilds, 
and all that echoes to the song of even ; all that the moun- 
tain's sheltering bosom shields, and all the dread magnifi- 
cence of heaven, -;— oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope 
to be forgiven ? 

642. The coffin was let down to the bottom of the grave, 
the planks were removed from the heaped up brink, the first 
rattling clods had struck their knell, the quick shovelling was 
over, and the long, broad, skilfully-cut pieces of turf were 
aptly joined together, and trimly laid by the beating spade, so 
that the newest mound in the churchyard was scarcely dis- 
tinguishable from those that were grown over by the undis- 
turbed grass and daisies of a luxuriant spring. 

643. The poor child of nature knevv^ not the God of reve- 
lation, but the God of the universe he acknowledged in every 
thing around him. He beheld him in the star that sank in 
beauty behind his lonely dwelling; in the sacred orb that 
flamed on him from his midway throne ; in the flower that 
snapped in the morning breeze; in the lofty pine, that defied 
a thousand whirlwinds; in the timid warbler, that never left 
its native grove; in the fearless eagle, whose untired pinion 
was wet in clouds ; in the worm that crawled at his foot ; and 
in his own matchless form, glowing with a spark of that light, 
to whose mysterious source he bent in humble, though blind 
adoration. 

Q^^. Our lives, says Seneca, are spent either in doing 
nothing at all, or in doing nothing to the purpose, or in 
doing nothing that we ought to do. 

* Pronounced quire. 



INTRODIJCTORY LESSONS. 107 

645. It was necessary for the world that arts should be in- 
vented and improved, books written and transmitted to pos- 
terity, nations conquered and civilized. 

646. All other arls of perpetuating our ideas, except wri- 
ting or printing, continue but a short time. Statues can last 
but a few thousands of years, edifices fewer, and colors still 
fewer than edifices. 

647. Life consists, not of a series of illustrious actions, or 
elegant enjoyments; the greater part of our time passes in 
compliance with necessities, in the performance of daily 
duties, in the removal of small inconveniences, in the pro- 
curement of petty pleasures. 

648. Though we seem grieved at the shortness of life in 
general, we are constantly wishing every period of it at an 
end. The minor longs to be of age, then to be a man of 
biisiness, then to make up an estate, then to arrive at honors, 
then to retire. 

649. The devout man does not only ^believe, but feels 
there is a Deity ; he has actual sensations of him ; his ex- 
perience concurs v.'ith his reason ; he sees him more in all his 
intercourse with him ; and even in this life almost loses his 
faith in conviction. 

650. Now the works of the flesh are manifest, which are 
these; adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, 
idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, 
strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, miarders, drunkenness, 
revellings, and such like. 

651. But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long- 
suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance. 

652. The ill-natured man, though but of equal parts with 
the good-natured man, gives himself a large field to expatiate 
in ; he exposes those failings in human nature over which the 
other Would cast a veil, laughs at vices which the other 
either excuses or conceals, falls indifferently on friends or 
enemies, exposes the person who has obliged him, and, in 
ihort, sticks at nothing that may establish his character of 
a wit. 

653. What can interrupt the content of the fair sex, upon 
whom one age has labored after another to confer honors, 
and accumulate immunities ? Those to whom rudeness is 
infamy, and insult is cov/ardice?. Whose eye commands the 
brave, and whose smile softens the severe? Whom the 
sailor travels to adorn, the soldier bleeds to defend, and the 
poet wears out life to celebrate ; who claim tribute from 



108 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

every art and science, and for whom, all who approach them 
endeavor to multiply delights, without requiring from them 
any return but willingness to be pleased.^ 

654. Nature has laid out all her art in beautifying the 
face; she has touched it with vermilion; made it the seat of 
smiles and blijshes; lighted it up and enlivened it with the 
brightness of the eyes ; hung it on each side with curious or- 
gans of sense; given it airs and graces that cannot be de- 
scribed, and surrounded it with such a flowing shade of hair, 
as sets all its beauties in the most agreeable light. 

655. Should the greater part of ihe people sit down and 
draw up a particular account of their time, what a shameful 
bill would it be ! So much in eating, and drinking, and 
sleeping, beyond what nature requires; so much in revelling 
and wantonness; so much for the recovery of the last night's 
intemperance; so much in gaming, plays, and masquerades; 
so much in paying and receiving formal and impertinent 
visits; so much in. idle and foolish prating, in censuring and 
reviling our neighbors; so much in dressing out our bodies 
and talking of fashions; and so much wasted and lost in 
doing nothing at all, 

656. They, through faith, subdued kingdoms, wrought 
righteousness, obtained promises, stopped the mouth of lions, 
quenched the violence of fire, escaped the edge of the 
sword, out of weakness were made strong, waxed valiant in 
fight, turned to flight the armies of the aliens. 

657. I conjure you by that which you profess, (howe'er 
you came to know it,) answer me. Though you untie the 
winds, and let them fight against the churches ; though the 
yesty waves confound and swallow navigation up; though 
bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down; though castles 
topple on their warders' heads; though palaces and pyramids 
do slope their heads to their foundations ; though the treasure 
of nature's germins tumble altogether, even till destruction 
sicken, answer me to what 1 ask you. 

[Sometimes the falling inflection is used at each particular 
in the enumeration except the last, as in the folloioing 
sentences.'] 

658. To advise the ignorant, relieve the needy, comfort 
the afflicted, are duties that fall in our way almost every day 
in our lives. 

659. The miser is more industrious than the saint. The 



TNTRODUCTOEY LESSONS. 109 

pains of getting, the fear of losing, and the inability of enjoy- 
inor his wealth, have been the mark of satire in all aaes. 

660. When ambition palls in one way, interest another, 
inclination a third, and perhaps reason contrary to all, a man 
IS likely to pass his time but ill, who has so many different 
parties to please. 

661. As the genius of Milton was wonderfully turned to 
the sublime, his subject is the noblest that could have entered 
into the thoughts of man. Every thing that is truly great 
and astonishing has a place in it. The whole system of the 
intellectual world, the chaos and the creation, heaven, earth, 
and hell, enter into the constitution of his poem. 

662. Labor, or exercise, ferments the humors, casts them 
into their proper channels, throws oif redundancies, and 
helps nature in those secret distributions, without which, the 
body cannot subsist in its vigor, nor the soul act with cheer- 
fulness. 



LESSON XXXII. 

IRONY. 

Irony consists in such expressions as are intended to con- 
vey a meaning directly opposite to what the words imply. 
Thifs, when we say of a boy who never gets his lesson, that he 
is an admiraWe scholar, this is called Irony. 

The word or words which are ironical, are generally to he 
emphasized, sometimes with the circumficx, and sometimes with 
the other accents. In the following sentences the ironical parts 
arc printed in Italic letters, and the pupil will manage his 
voice in pronouncing the accented words, according to the 
-principles explained in Lesson 22, page 69. 

663. They will give enlightened freedom to our minds, 
ioho are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice, and pride. 

664. That lulled them as the north wind does the sea. 

665. " This is 7V ell got up for a closing scene," said Fer- 
gus, smiling disdainfully upon the apparatus of terror. 

666. Your consul is merciful : for this all thanks. — He 
DARES not touch a hair of Catiline. 

667. Surely in this age of invention, something may be 

10 



110 mTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

struck out to obviate the necessity (if such necessity exists) 
of so tasking — degrading the human intellect. }V/ii/ should 
not a sort of mute barrel organ be constructed, on the plan 
of those that play sets of tunes and coijntry dances, to indite 
a catalogue of polite epistles, calculated for all the ceremo- 
nious observances of good breeding ? O the unspeakable 
relief (could such a machine be invented) of having only to 
grind an ansvi^er to one of one's dear five hundred friends. 

668. Or suppose there were to be an epistolary/ steam- 
engine — A I/, thafs the thing — Steam does every thing now- 
a-da.ys. Dear Mr. Brunei, set about it, I beseech you, and 
achieve the most glorious of your undertakings. The block 
machine at Portsmouth would be nothing to it. That spares 
manual labor — this would relieve mental drudgery, and 

thousands yet unborn But hold ! I am not so sure that 

the fe'male sex in general may quite enter into my views of 
the subject. 

669. And it came to pass at noon that^ Elijah mocked 
them, and said, " Cry aloud, for he is a God: — either he is 
talking, or he is pursuing, or he is in a journey, or perad- 
venture he sleepeth and must be awaked. 

670. We have much reason to believe the modest man 
would not ask him for his debt, where he pursues his life. 

671. O terrible war ! in which this band of profligates 
are to march under Catiline. Draw out all your garrisons 
against ih\s formidable body! 

672. But It is foolish in us to compare Drusus Africanus 
and ourselves with Clodius ; all our other calamities were 
tolerable ; but no one can patiently bear the deatlr of Clodius. 

673. Do you think yourself as learned, or as smart a boy 
as Charles ? Has he not learned the whole of the^rs^ page 
in his book? And did he not learn three lines in two hours? 
Could you do as much as that ? 



LESSON XXXIII. 

ANALOGY. 

The ivord Analogy means resemblance ; and it is taken as 
the title of this lesson, to represent the principle stated in the 
preface of this book, founded on the faculty of imitation. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



Ill 



In connexion with some colloquial sentence, another of less 
obvious import is given, requiring the same modulatiojis and 
injlections of the voice. The sentences are printed side hy 
side, and separated hy a line. The pupil ivill read both 
sentences in the same manner, with the same modulation, tone, 
emphasis, and expression. The simple or colloquial sentence 
is called the model, and the more dijficult one the analogical 
sentence. 



MODELS. 

674. Why did you drive 
your hoop so fast to-day? 

675. Go tell your father 
how naughty you have been, 
and ask your mother to re- 
prove you. 

676. Thomas Smith, go 
away : take your things and 
run. Why do you bring 
such silly things here? Do 
you think I want them, you 
foolish boy? They are good 
for nothing ; they are not 
worth having, 

677. I would rather be a 
kitten, and cry mew, than one 
of those same prosing letter- 
mongers. 

678. Do you pretend to 
sit as high in school as An- 
thony ? Did you read as cor- 
rectly, speak as loudly, or be- 
have as well as he?* 

679. Are you the boy of 
whose good conduct I have 
heard so much ? 

680. Have you not mis- 
employed your time, wasted 



ANALOGICAL SENTENCES. 

674. Why looks your Grace 
so heavily to-day? 

675. Go show your slaves 
how choleric you are, and bid 
your bondmen tremble. 

676. Son of night, retire : 
call thy winds and fly. Why 
dost thou come to my pres- 
ence with thy shadowy arms? 
Do I fear thy gloomy form, 
dismal spirit of Loda ? Weak 
is thy shield of clouds : 
feeble is that meteor thy 
sword. 

677. I'd rather be a dog, 
and bay the moon, than such 
a Roman. 

678. Do you pretend to 
sit as high on Olympus as 
Hercules ? Did you kill the 
Nemae'an lion, the Eryman- 
thian boar, the Lernean ser- 
pent, or Stymphalian birds? 

679. Art thou the Thra- 
cian robber, of whose ex- 
ploits I have heard so much? 

680. Hast thou not set at 
defiance my authority, violated 



* Some of the sentences in this lesson may be found in previous parts of the 
oook. See page 33, No. 128, &lc. 



112 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



your talents, and passed your 
life in idleness and vice ? 



681. Who is that standing 
up in his place, with his hat 
on, and his books under his 
arm? 

682. Did he recite his 
lesson correctly, read audi- 
bly, and appear to under- 
stand what he read? 

683. Is that a map which 
you have before you, with 
the leaves blotted with ink? 



684. Henry was careless, 
thoughtless, heedless, and 
iiiHttentive. 

685. Oh, how can you de- 
stroy those beautiful things 
which your father procured 
for you! — that beautiful top, 
— those polished marbles, — 
that excellent ball, — and that 
beautifully painted kite, — oh, 
how can you destroy them, 
and expect that he will buy 
you new ones ? * 



the public peace, and passed 
thy life in injuring the persona 
and properties of thy fellow- 
subjects ? 

681. Whom are they ush- 
ering from the world with 
all this pageantry and long 
parade of death ? 

682. Was his wealth stored 
fraudfully, the spoil of orphans 
wronged, and widows who 
have none to plead their 
rights ? 

683. Is this a dagger which 
I see before me, the handle 
towards my hand ? 

683. Will you say that 
your time is your own, and 
that you have *a right to em- 
ploy it in the manner you 
please ? 

684. This is partial, un- 
just, uncharitable, iniqui- 
tous. 

685. Oh, how canst thou 
renounce the boundless store 
of charms that Nature to 
her votary yields ! — the war- 
bling woodland, the resound- 
ing shore, the pomp of groves,- 
the garniture of 'fields; all 
that the genial ray of morn- 
ing gilds, and all that echoes 
to the song of even, all that 
the mountain's sheltering bo- 
som shields, and all the dread 
magnificence of heaven, — oh, 
how canst thou renounce, and 
hope to be forgiven ? 



* The principle involved in this lesson will be found by the teacher a useful 
auxiliary m lending; the pupil to the correct enunciation of difficult sentences. 
It is deemed unnecessary to extend the lesson by numerous jnodels. or examples 
of analogy. The teacher will find it easy to form models for the pupil in his 
exercises in reading ; and if the experience of the author may be adduced in 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS, 113 

LESSON XXXIV. 

THE SLUR.* 

The Slur is the name given to such a management of the 
voice as is opposed to emphasis. When a word or part of a 
sentence is emphasized, it is to be pronounced ivith a louder 
and more forcible effort of the voice, and it is frequently to 
he prolonged. But when a sentence or part of a sentence is 
SLURRED, it is to be read like a parenthesis,^ in an altered 
tone of voice, more rapidly, and not so forcibly , and with all 
the words pronounced nearly alihe:\. 

The parts which are to he slurred in this lesson are printed 
in Italic letters, and. the tvords on which emphatic force is to 
he bestoived are printed in capitals, as in Lesson 24, page 75. 

proof of the utility and efficacy of the principle, he has little doubt that it will 
be acknowledg^ed as a valuable aid in teaching- the art of reading. 

* The following: remarks upon the slur were comrauuica4ed to the author by a 
distin^ished teacher. 

" In order to communicate clearly and forcibly the whole signification of a 
passage, it must be subjected to a rigid analysis. It will then be found, thai 
ofteu one paramount idea pervades the sentence, although it may be associated 
with incidental statements, and qualified in every possible manner. It is the 
province of the reader, by appropriate inflections and modulations of the voice, 
to communicate to the listener every shade of meaning, be it more or less del- 
icate. The prim.ary idea, then, will require a forcible utterance, while the other 
portions will be thrown into the shade. For want of a better name, we may 
designate as ' The Siur' that particular element in elocution, by which those 
parts of a sentence of less comparative importance, are rendeied less impres- 
sive to the ear. 

" It will be understood, that the use of stress, alone, can by no means make a 
reader ; indeed, it is certain that the best elocutionists are the}' who most 
adroitly blend emphasis and slur. The presence of the slur generally implies 
the existence of emphasis ; and the form.er is often used to set an emphatic 
word or phrase in stronger relief. 

" A slurred passage must generally be read in a lower and less forcible 
tone of voice, and more rapidly than the context ; and this element (namely, 
the slur) must be emplo3'ed in cases of parenthesis, contrast, repetition, or ex- 
planation, where the sentence is of small comparative importance; and often 
where qualijication of time, -place, or manner is made." 

t See page 4iS, Lesson 16. 

X On the majiagement of the slur, much of the beauty and propriety of 
enunciation depends ; especially in all sentences in which parentheses abound. 
How much soever a sentence may be cumbered with explanatory details, or 
interrupted and obscured by parentheses and unimportant adjuncts, the reader, 
by a proper management of the slur, can always bring forward the most im- 
portant particulars into a strong light, and throw the rest into shade ; thereby 
entirely changing the character of the sentence, and making it appear lucid 
stroner, and expressive. 

10^ 



114 ^^TRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

086. Stay, you imperfect speakers, tell me more: By 
Sinel's death, I know I am thane of Glamis; but how of 
Cawdor? The thane of Cawdor lives, a prosperous gentle- 
man ; and to be King stands not within the prospect of be- 
lief, no more than to be Cawdor. Say from WHENCE you 
oive this strange intelligence; — or ^YiY upon this blasted 
heath you stop our way with such prophetic greeting. 

687. But let me ask by WHAT RIGHT do you involve 
yourself in this multiplicity of cares 1 WHY do you weave 
around you this web of occupation, and then complain that you 
cannot break it 1 

6SS. And when the prodigal son came to himself, he said, 
" How many hired servants of my father's have bread enough 
and to spare, and I perish with hunger ! I will arise and GO 
to my father; and will say unto him, 'Father, I have sinned 
against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to 
be called thy son : — make me as one of thy hired servants.' " 
And he arose, and was coming to his father; — but while he 
was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had com- 
passion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. And 
the son SAID unto him, " Father, I have sinned against 
heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy to be called 
thy son" * 

669. When therefore the Lord knew how the Pharisees 
had heard that Jesus made and baptized more disciples than 
John, though Jesus himself baptized not, but his disciples, he 
left Judea, and departed again into Galilee. .. 

690. Search the Scriptures, /or in them ye think ye have 
eternal life, and they are they which testify of me. 

691. STRANGER, if thou hast learnt a truth which 
needs experience more than reason, that the world is full of 
guilt and misery, and hast known enough of all its sorrows, 
crimes, and chares, to tire thee of it, — enter this wild 
WOOD, and view the haunts of nature. 

692. The calm shade shall bring a kindred calm, and 
the sweet breeze, that makes the green leaves dance, shall waft 
a balm to thy sick heart. 

693. The massy rocks themselves, the old and ponderous 
trunks of prostrate trees, that lead from knoll to knoll, a 
causey rude, or bridge, the sunken brook, and their dark roots 



* This passage has been previously related ; and all similar repetitions are 
to be slurred, unless there is particular reason for emphasizing them. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 115 

with all their earth upon, them, twisting high, breathe fixed 

TRANQUILLITY. 

694. The rivulet sends forth glad sounds, and tripping 
o'er its bed of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, seems 
with continuous laughter to rejoice in its own being.* 

695. Therefore said they unto him, " How were thine eyes 
OPENED?" He answered and said, " A man that is called 
Jksus made clay, and anointed mine eyes, and said unto me, 
'Go TO THE POOL OF SiLOAM AND WASH:' and I Went and 
washed, and I received sight." *********** Then 
again the Pharisees asked him how he had received his sight. 
He said unto THEM, '* He put clay upon mine eyes, and 1 
washed, and do see." 

696. And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, when o'er 
the sky advanced the kindling dawn, the crimson cloud, 
blue main, and mountain gray, and lake dim gleaming on 
the smoky lawn; — far to the west, the long, long vale with- 
drawn, ivhere twilight loves to linger for a while; and now 
he faintly kens the bounding fawn, and villager abroad at 
early toil. Butlo! the sun appears! and heaven, earth, 
ocean, smile. 

697. O God ! be thou a God, and spare while yet 'tis 
time! Renew not Adam's fall : — Mankind were then but 
twain; but they are numerous now as are the waves, and 
the tremendous rain, whose drops shall be less thick than 
would their graves, were graves permitted to the sons of 
Cain. 

698. Mountains interposed, make enemies of nations, 
who had else, like kindred drops, been mingled into one. 

699. No! dear as freedom is, and in my heart's just 
estimation prized above all price, I would much rather be 
myself the slave, and wear the bonds, than fasten them 

on HIM. 

700. A great CITY — situated amidst all that nature could 
create of beauty and profusion, or art collect of science and 
magnificence, — the growth of many ages — the scene of 
splendor , festivity , and happiness — in one moment withered 
as by a spell — its palaces, its streets, its temples, its gardens 
glowing with eternal spring, and its inhabitants in the full 
enjoyment of life's blessings, obliterated from their very place 
in creation, not by war, nor famine, or disease, nor any of the. 
natural causes of destruction to which earth had been accus' 

* See note on page 145, No. 780. 



116 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

tomed — hut in a single night, as if by magic, and amid the 
conjlagration, as it wiare, of nature itsdf, presented a subject 
on which the wildest imagination might grow weary, without 
even equalling the grand and terrible reality. 

701. And THOU, O silent form, alone and bare, whom, as 
I lift again my head, bowed low in silent adoration, I again 
behold, and to thy summit upward from thy base sweep slowly, 
with dim eyes suffused with tears, AWAKE, thou MOUN- 
TAIN FORM. 

702. Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven, if in your 
bright leaves loe would read the fate of men and empires, — 
'tis to be forgiven, that, in our aspirations to be great, our 
destinies o'erleap their mortal state, and claim a kindred 
with you ; for ye are a beauty and a mystery, and create 
in us such love and reverence from afar, that fortune, 
FAME, power, life, have named themselves a star. 

703. A few hours more, and she will move in stately 
grandeur on, cleaving her path majestic through the food, 
as if she were a goddess of the deep. 

704. Falsely luxurious, will not man awake, and spring- 
ing from the bed of sloth, enjoy the cool, the fragrant, and 
the silent hour, to meditation due and sacred song? 

705. For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise ? 
To lie in dead oblivion, losing half the fleeting moments of 
too short a life; — total extinction of the enlightened soul! 
Or else to feverish vanity alive, wildered and tossing through 
distempered dreams ! 

706. But yonder comes the powerful KING OF DAY, 
rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, the kindling 
azure, and the mountain's broiv illumed with fluid gold, his 
near approach betoken glad LO, NOW, APPARENT 
ALL, aslant the dew-bright earth and colored air, he looks 
in boundless MAJESTY abroad, and sheds the shining day, 
that burnished plays on rocks, and hills, and towers, and 
wandering' stream.s, HIGH GLEAMING from afar. 

707. PRFME CHEERER, LIGHT! of all material 
beincTs FIRST AND BEST; EFFLUX DIVINE, NA- 
TURE'S RESPLENDENT ROBE! without whose vesting 
beavtif all were wrapt in unessential gloom; and THOU, 
O SUN! SOUL of surrounding WORLDS! in whom, 
best seen, shines out thy Blaker — may I sing of thee? 

708. 'Tis by thy secret, strong, attractive force, as with 
a chain indissoluble bound, thy system rolls entire ; from the 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 1 17 

far bourn of utmost Saturn, wheeling ivide his round of thirty 
years, to Mercury, whose dish can scarce he caught hy philo- 
sophic eye, lost in the near eifulgence of thy blaze. 

709. And thus, in silent icaiting, stood the piles of stone 
and piles of wood ; TILL DEATH, who, in his vast affairs, 
ne'er puts things off — as men in theirs — and thus, if I the 
truth must tell, does his work finally and well, WINKED 
at our hero as he passed, *' Your house is finished, sir, at 
last; a narrower house — a house of clay — your palace 
for another day." 

710. The smoothness of flattery cannot now avail — 
cannot SAVE us in this rugged and aivfiol crisis. 

711. What PROFIT hath a man of all his labor, which 
he taketh under the sun ? 

712. IS there any thing whereof it may be said, " See, this 
is new ? " The thing which HAS been, it is that which shall 
be, and that which IS done, is that which SHALL be done, 
and there is no NEW thing under the sun. 

713. THOU, glorious mirror, where the Almighty' s form 
glasses itself in tempests, in ALL time, calm or convulsed, in 
breeze, or gale, or storm, icing the pole, or in the torrid 
clime dark heaving, BOUNDLESS, ENDLESS, and SUB- 
LIME — the image of Eternity — the throne of the Invisi- 
ble ; even from out thy slime, the monsters of the deep are 
made; each zone obeys thee — thou goest forth, DREAD, 
FATHOMLESS, ALONE. 

714. CENTRE of light and energy ! thy way is 
through the unknown void ; thou hast thy throne, morning 
and evening, and at noon of day, far in the blue, untended 
and alone : Ere the first wakened airs of earth had blown, 
ON didst thou march, triumphant in thy light. Then didst 
thou send thy glance, which still hath flown wide through the 
never-ending worlds of night ; and yet thy full orb burns with 
flash unquenched and bright. 

715. In thee, FIRST LIGHT, the bounding ocean smiles, 
when the quick winds uprear it in a swell, that rolls in glit- 
tering green around the isles, luhere ever-springing fruits and 
blossoms dwell. 

716. THINE are the MOUNTAINS, — ^^^/lere they 
purely lift snows that have never wasted, in a sky which 
hath no stain ; below the storm may drift its darkness, and 
the thunder-gust roar by; — ALOFT, in thy eternal smile, 
they lie, DAZZLING, but COLD; — thy farewell glance 



118 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

looks there, and when below thy hues of beauty die, girt 
round them as a rosy belt, they bear into the high, dark 
vault, a brow that still is fair. 

717. May THE LIKE SERENITY, in such dreadful 
circumstances, and a DEATH EQUALLY GLORIOUS, 
be the lot of all whom TYRANNY, of whatever denomina- 
tion or description, SHALL, in any age, or in any country, 
CALL to expiate their virtues on the scaffold. 

718. Behold, I show you a mystery; We shall not all 
sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a MOMENT, in the 
TWINKLING of an EYE, AT the LAST TRUMP ; /or 
the trumpet shall sound, and the dead he raised incorruptible, 
and we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on 
iNCORRUPTioN, and this mortal must put on immortality. 
So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and 
this mortal shall have put on immortality , then shall be 
brought to pass the saying that is written, DEATH is 

SWALLOWED UP IN VICTORY. 

719. O WINTER ! ruler of the inverted year ! 
thy scattered hair with sleet-like ashes filled, thy breath 
congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks fringed iviih a beard 
made white with other snoios than those of age, thy forehead 
wrapped in clouds, a leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
a sliding car, indebted to no wheels, but urged by storms 
along its slippery way, I LOVE THEE, all UNLOVELY 
as thou seem'st, and DREADED as thou ART. 

720. Lo ! the unlettered hind, who never knew to raise 
his mind excursive to the heights of abstract contemplation, 
as he sits on the green hillock by the hedge-row side, what 
time the insect swarms are murmuring, and marks, in silent 
thought, the broken clouds, that fringe with loveliest hues 
the evening sky, feels in his soul the hand of nature rouse 
the thrill of gratitude to him who formed the goodly 
prospect ; he beholds the god throned in the west ; and 
his reposing ear hears sounds angelic in the fitful breeze, that 
floats through mighboring copse or fairy brake, or lingers, 
playful, on the haunted stream. 

"^i'Zl. They shall hear of my vengeance, that would 
scorn to listen to the story of my wrongs. The miserable 
IIioiiLAND drover, bankrupt, bar footed, stripped of all, 
diskouored, and hunted down, because the avarice of others 
grasped, (d more than that poor all could pay , shall burst on 
them in an awful change. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 119 

LESSON XXXV. 

MEASURE OF SPEECH.* 



In Lesson 10th, page 16th, the pupil was informed that a pause is 
sometimes made in reading, where there is no pause in the book. The 
pause to which allusion is there made, is rendered necessary to allow 
the reader to take breath. This lesson is designed to explain to the 
pupil another sort of pause, or rather interruption of the voice, caused 
by the peculiar operation of the organs of speech. 

Dr. Rush, in his work "On the Human Voice," has remarked, with 
regard to the manner in which children learn to read, that " the close 
attention which their ignorance requires, and their slowness of utter- 
ance, lead them to lay an equal stress upon every syllable, or at least 
upon every word. This habit continues a long time after the eye has 
acquired a facility in following up discourse, and in some cases infects 
pronun<-iation throughout subsequent lile." 

The object of this lesson, which is entitled " Measure of Speech,'' is 
twofold : 1st. To teach the pupil so to manage his voice, in conformity 
with the natural operation of the organs of speech, as to break up the 
monotonous, or '•'■equal'" manner of reading above mentioned, and to 
introduce such an agreeable variety, as will cause peculiar melody of 
utterance ; and, 2dly. To enable him to read in such a manner that he 
will not be " out of breath," and consequently to exercise his voice 
without fatigue. 

A Measure of Speech consists of an accented and an 
unaccented portion of sound, produced hy one effort of the 
voice. 

In pronouncing an accented syllable, the voice makes an effort, 
which must be repeated, if the next syllable is also an accented syl- 
lable. But if the next syllable or syllables be unaccented, the voice 
can pronounce them all with a single effort. Thus the words spirt, 
spirit, spiritual, or spiritually, may each be pronoixnced with a single 
effort or pulsation of the voice. 



* The teacher who would thoroughly understand the subject treated in this 
lesson, and who aims at excellence in the art of reading, is referred to the 
very vahiable and scientific work of Dr. Rusli.. of Pliilarlelphia, entitled the 
" Philosophy of the Human Voice,'"' or to Dr. Barber's Grammar of Elocution, 
a work founded on the principles advanced bv Dr. Rush. Dr. Barber, whose 
opinion on (he subject has great weight, says, " In Dr. Rush's work, the reader 
may repair to a fountain at once deep and full." In another place, Dr. Barher 
assures "every public speaker, and every philosophical actor, ihat he will fail 
in his duty to himself, if he neglects a diligent perusal of Dr. Rush's Philosophy 
of the Voice." 'I'he same may also be said in relation to Dr. Barber's own 
work. From the works of both these gentlemen, the author has derivfed as- 
sistance ill the preparation of these Exercises. 



120 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

It may here be remarked, that it is not material whether the syl- 
lables belong to the same word. The voice may utter, with a single 
effort, several syllables, even when they constitute different words. 
Thus each of the following lines may be pronounced by a single effort 
or pulsation of the voice : — 

Came to the — 
When he was in — 
'Twas at the — 
Does to the — 
Oft did the — 
Utterable, &c. 

But when two accented syllables follow one another, there must be a 
distinct effort or pulsation of the voice to pronounce each. Thus the 
words fate^ hate, both being accented, require a distinct effort or pulsa- 
tion of the voice for the pronunciation of each ; and a pause must be 
made between each, long enough to pronounce an unaccented syllable. 
It will thus be seen, that the two syllables fatal, or hating, can be pro- 
nounced by tiie same eff'ort that is required to pronounce the syllables 
fate and liatc. And here it may be remarked that, while au accented 
syllable requires a distinct effort or pulsation of the voice in pro- 
nouncing it, an unaccented syllable is uttered without such effort. 
This distinction of the voice, in pronouncing accented and unaccented 
syllables, is called by Dr. Barber, in his Grammar of Elocution, the 
pulsative and the remiss action of the voice. 

An accented syllable, therefore, is uttered by the pulsative * 
action of the voice. 

An unaccented syllable is uttered by the remiss * action of 
the voice. 

A perfect measure of speech consists of one syllable, or any 
number of syllables, {not exceeding five,) uttered during one 
puliation and remission of the voice. 



It may here be remarked, that a single syllable may constitute a 
measure; for if it be extended in sound, the first part of that sound 
may be ;iccented or heavy, and the latter unaccented or light. But a 
short syllable will not constitute a measure. 

More than one syllable cannot be uttered during the pulsative effort 
of the voice ; while one, two, three, and even four, can be uttered 
during the remiss action ; as in the word spiritually, in which the 
first syllable, spir, is pronounced by the pulsative, and the syllables 
itually by the remiss action of the voice. 



* As a proper unHerslanding of these terms is deemed essential to a clear 
comprehension of the principle on which this lesson is founded, (he teacher 
who wishes a fuller development of the subject, is referred to Dr. Barber's 
Grammar of Elocution — or to Dr. Rush's work, already mentioned, on the 
Philosophy of the Human Voice, Section 49th, entitled "the Rhythmus of 
Speech." 



mTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



121 



An imperfect measure of speech consists of a single sylla- 
hie on which the acute accent is placed, — or of a syllable or 
syllables zohich are unaccented. 

In the following examples for reading, the lines are di- 
vided into several parts, which are separated by a mark like 
this I called a bar, and the parts divided by the bars are ail 

PERFECT or IMPERFECT MEASURES OF SPEECH. 

The accented sylh'bles, or those which require the pulsa- 
tive effort of the voice, are noted by a star * under them, 
and the unaccented syllables, or those which require the re- 
miss action of the voice, have hyphens - under them. 

The time occupied in reading each portion between the 
bars must be equal, whether the bar includes a perfect or 
imperfect measure of speech. A bar may contain an imper- 
fect measure; the accented or the unaccented portions of the 
measure being omitted. In that case, a mark like this "^ is 
inserted, to indicate a rest or stop long enough to pronounce 
the portion which is omitted.* 

[In reading the following passages, the pupil will recollect 
that all the syllables which have a star under them are ac- 
cented — that all which have the hyphen under them are 
unaccented — and that all the marlcs like this ^ indicate that 
a pause is to be made long enough to pronounce an unaccented 
syllable.] 

122. 



^ In the 

* _ _ 

^ the 



second 



century 

* _ _ 



empire of I Rome 

* _ _ * _ 

part of the I earth 

- I * - ' 

ized portion of man- kind. 



^ of the 



fairest 



compre- 
and the 



Christian 

* 

hended the 



most ^ 



civil- 

* _ 



* Dr. Rush, in the very valuable work already mentioned, has the following 
remarks in relation to the method of marking and dividing sentences here in- 
troduced : — 

" This notation will not, indeed, inform us what syllables are to be emphatic, 
nor where the pauses are to be placed ; but it will enable a master, who knows 
how to order all these things in speech, to furnish that which most men require 
for every thing they do — a copy. If a boy is taught by this method, he ac- 
quires the habit of "attention to the subjects of accentuation and pause, which 
mav be readilv applied in ordinary discourse." 
11 



122 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



'Twas at the royal 


feast ^ 


^ for 


Persia 


* _ - * - 


* - 


* - 


* 



won. 

* _ 



HOHENLINDEN.^ 



T On 

* 

^ All 
* 

^ Of 



Linden 

* 

bloodless 

* 

^ And 



T 



T\ 



dark as 



Iser 

* _ 



rolling 



T But 

* 



Linden 

* _ 



11 



724. 
when the 



sun was 

* 



low 

* _ 



lay the un- 



w inter 

* 



rapidly. I ^^ 

* - - 

725. 



trodden 

* 

^ was the 

* - _ 



flow 

* _ 



When the I drum 



^Com- 



^The 
* 



manding 

* 

darkness 



saw an- 

* 



other I sight 

* _ * _ 



beat 



:^«' 



fires of 



^ of her 



death 



dead of 

^to 



scenery 



night 

* 

light 

* 



726. 



* . 

Each 

* 



torch and 
horseman 



trumpet 
drew his 



^"1 I fast ar- 

battle I blade 

* * 



rayed 

* 

1-1 



* Although there are many poetical extiacts in the preceding parts of this 
book, ihis is the first extract m which iJie lines are distingnished. All the pre- 
ceding extracts have been presented in sentences like prose, lo prevent that 
"sing smig" maiuier of reading into which children are apt to fall. It is 
thought that the introductory remarks in this lesson are adapted to prepare 
the pupil to read verse, without the danger of " favorijig tr)e poetry," as this 
sing-song is sometimes called. The usual punctuation is omittecl, in this lesson, 
as the system of notation adopted fully supplies its place. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



123 



^ And 



furious I ^"^ 



every 



charger 



neighed 



;^To 


join the 


dreadful 

* 


revelry. 


T\ 


wiwj 






727. 


Then 

* - 


shook the 

* 


hills 

* 


^ with 


thunder 

* 


riven 

* - 


Then 

* - 


rushed the 

* - - 


steeds 

* 


^T 


battle 

* 


driven 

* - 



^T And 



louder than the 



bolts of 



heaven 



T\ 



Far flashed ^ the red ^ ar- tillery. ^^ ^^ 



728. 



^ And 

* - 

T On 

* - 

T And 

* _ 

T Of 



redder 

* - 


yet 

* _ 


7 


those 


fires shall 

* 


^i 


ow 




Linden's 

* - 


hills of 

* 


blood-stained 

* 


snow 


n 


darker 

* - 


yet 

* _ 


^ 


shall 


be the 


flc 

* 


m 









Iser 



rolling 



rapidly. 



T\ T\ 



729. 



•^ 'Tis 

* 

T Can 

* 

^ Where 



T\ 

pierce the 



furious 



"1 but 
* 



scarce 

* 



yon 



war clouds 



rolling 



Frank 



^ and 



fiery 



lurid 
dun 
Hun 



sun 

* _ 



T\ 



11 


Shout in their 

* 


sulphurous 

* - _ 


canopy 

* - _ 


T\ 


11 


^ The 


combat 

* 


1 
deepens 

* 




* 


n 


On 

* _ 


^ye 


brave 

* _ 


^W 


ho 


rush to 

* 


glo 

* 


ry 


w 


n 


^ 


Ol 


• th 


e 


.'* 


ave 


T 


1 n 



124 

Wave 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



Munich 



^ And I charge 
* -I * - 



with 



all thy 

* 

1 M thy 



banners 



wave 



chivalry. 



^ 



"T, 













730. 














Few 

* - 


M^ few shall 

* 


part 


where 

* 


many 

* 


meet 

* - 


^, 


^1 


H The 

* 


snow 

* - 


^ shall be their 

* - _ - 


winding 

* 


sheet 

* - 


^^, 




^, An 
* 


d 


every 

* - - 


turf 


*i, be 
# 


- 


neath their 

* 


feet 









'I Shall 



be a 



soldier's 

* 



sepulchre. 

* - - 



^n 



CATHARINA. 

731. 



^ She 

^, And 
^ The 
^ And 



came ^ 



^j she is 
* _ - 

meet perhaps 

* . - 

sun of I that '^, 



gone *^ I H we have 
* - * - 



never a- gam 



seems to have 

* - - 



moment 



risen m 

* - 



set ^ 



vam. ^ 



met *^ 















732. 






^ 


Catha- 


rina 


*^has 


fled like a 


dream 




* 


* - 


* 


* - - 


* - 


So 


vanishes 


pleasure 


^a- 


las*^ 


^^.^i 




* _ 


* 


- - 


* 




* 


" 


# 







But has 

* 

^ That 



left 



*^, a re- gret ^, 



^ and es- 



will not so suddenly pass. ""^ 



teem 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

733. 



125 



Tin 



yonder 



Sfrave 



1 ^ 



T Where 
T The 



Druid 



lies T 



slowly I winds the 



stealing 



wave ^ 

* _ 



T To 



year s 

* 

deck 



best 

* _ 



sweets shall 



duteous 



11, 
rise^ j 



T its 



Poet' 

* _ 



sylvan 



grave. 



[The pupil will observe that prose as well as poetry is 
made up of similar measures of speech. The only differ- 
ence in sound, between poetry and prose, is, that poetry or 
verse consists of a regular succession of similar measures, 
which produce a harmonious impression on the ear ; while 
in prose, the different kinds of measure occur promiscuously, 
without any regular succession. The following example 
affords an instance of prose divided off into measures.] 



And I be- 



beasts 
them 
sand 
with a 



angels 



held 
round a- 

^ and the 

* _ _ 

'"j was I ten "^ 



734. 

T and I 



heard the 



voice of 

* 



ma- 



bout the 



throne 



elders 



11 



T and the 



thousand i times 



T and the 

* - - 

number of 

* 

ten T 



thou- 



T and 



thousands of 



thousands 



1^ 



Saying 



slain "^ 



T and 
and I glory 



loud I voice 

* _ I * _ 

1 ^^ ^^" 

T and 



T I Worthy is the 



Lamb that 



wnsdom 



ceive 



power 
strength 



T and 



T and 

* _ 



riches 
honor 



T 



T and I blessing. 
* _ * - 

11# 



126 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

[In the following extracts, the marks of the accented and 
unaccented syllables are omitted, but the bars and rests are 
retained. The usual punctuation is also restored.] 

735. 

PART OF THE NINTH CHAPTER OF ST. JOHN. 

And as | Jesus | passed | by, ^ | ^ he | saw a | man which 
was I blind from his | birth. | "1^ m | And his dis- | ci- 
ples I asked him, | saying, | Master, | who did | sin, ^ | 
"^ this I man | ^^ or his | parents, | that he was | born "^ | 
blind ? I T^ I ^T I Jesus | answered, | Neither hath this | 
man | sinned | nor his | parents : | ^"^ | but that the | 
works of I God | ^ should be | made ^ | manifest in | him. 
^T I ^"1 I ^ "™"^^ I ^'^^^ the I works of | him that | sent 
me, I while it is | day ; | ^^ | ^ the | night | cometh | 
^ when I no ^ I man I can ^ | work. ^ ^ 1^"^ | ^ As | 
long I "^ as I I am in the | world, "^ | I | am the | light | 
^ of the I world. | "1^ | ^"1 | When he had | thus ^ | 
spoken, | '*^ he | spat on the | ground, "^ | "^ and | made | 
clay I "^ of the | spittle, | and he a- | nointed the | eyes "^ | 
"^ of the I blind | man | ^ with the | clay, ^ 1 ^ and | said 
unto him, | Go, "^ | wash in the | pool of | Siloam, | ^"^ | 
(which is, by in- | terpre- | tation, | Sent.) | ^^ | ^^ | 
^ He I went his | way, | therefore, | ^ and | washed, | 
^ and I came | seeing, m m | 

"^ The I neighbors | therefore, | ^ and | they which be- | 
fore had | seen him, | that he was | blind, | ^^ | said, ^ ] 
Is not I this ^ I he that | sat and | begged ? | ^^ | ^^ | 
Some I said, ^ | This | is | he; | ^^ | others | said, ^ | He 
is I like him : 1^^ H but | he | said, ^ I ] am | he. | ^"^ | 
^^ I Therefore j said they unto him, | ^^ | How | were 
thine [ eyes | opened ? | "^^ | "^^ | ^ He | answered and | 
said, I ^ A I man | ^ that is | called | Jesus, | made | clay, j 
^ and a- | nointed mine | eyes, | "^ and | said unto me, | 
Go to the I pool of | Siloam, | "^ and | wash : ^ | "^^ | 
^ and I I went and | washed, | ^ and I re- ] ceived | sight. ! 



INTEODUCTORY LESSONS 127 

W]W| I w|w| I TJjgjj I gg-^ ^j^g^ y^^^ j^.^^ I v^w| I ^j^gj.g I .g 

he? n^ n I He I said, "1 ^ | I know not. mm | 

^ They | brought to the | Pharisees | him that a- | fore 
time I ^ was I blind. | ^^ | And it was the | Sabbath | 
day ^ I ^ when | Jesus | made the | clay, | "^ and | opened 
his I eyes. | ^^ \ Then a- | gain the | Pharisees | also | 
asked him | how he had re- | ceived his [ sight. | "^^ | 
^ He I said unto | them,* | ^ He | put ^ [ clay ^ | ^ upon 
mine | eyes, | ^ and I | washed | and do | see. | ^^ MT | 
Therefore said | some of the | Pharisees, | ^ This | man 
is I not of I God, | ^ be- | cause | ^ he | keepeth not the | 
Sabbath | day. | ^^ \ Others | said, ^ | How can a | man 
that is a | sinner, | do such | miracles'? | "^^ | And there 
was I ^ a di- | vision a- | mong them. | 11 j ^^ | ^ They 
say I unto the | blind | man a- | gain, 1 | H | What | 
sayest | thou of him ? | that he hath | opened thine | eyes ? | 
11 n He said, 1 | He is a | prophet. | H j H | 

736. 

PSALM CXXXIX. 

O I Lord, 1 I thou hast | searched me, | 1 and | known 
me. I 11 i 11 I 1 Thou [ knowest my | down | sitting | 
1 and mine I up 1 | rising; | 1 thou | under- | standest 
my I thoughts | 1 a- | far | off. 1 1 11 | H | Thou | 
compassest my | path, 1 | 1 and my | lying | down, 1 | and 
art ac- | quainted with | all my | ways. | H | For there is | 
not a I word in my | tongue, | 1 but | lo, 1 | O 1 ] Lord, | 
thou 1 I knowest it | alto- | gether. | H j H | Thou hast 
be- I set me | 1 be- | hind and be- | fore, 1 | 1 and | laid 
thine | hand up- | on me. | H | H | Such 1 | knowledge 
is I too I wonderful for | me : | H | it is | high, 1 | 1 I | 
cannot at- | tain unto it. | H | H 1 Whither shall I | 
go 1 I 1 from thy | spirit? | 11 j 1 or | whither shall I j 
flee from thy | presence? | 11 | H | If I as- | cend 1 | 

'^ See Number 695, page 115. 



128 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



up into I heaven, | ^^ | thou art | there : | ^^ | if I | 
make my | bed in | hell, | "^ be- | hold, *^ | thou art | there. | 
^"^ I "^^ I If I I take the | wings of the | morning | ^ and | 
dwell in the | uttermost | parts of the | sea : | "^^ | Even | 
there | ^ shall thy | hand ^ | lead me, | ^ and thy j 
right ^ I hand shall | hold me. | ^^ ^ | If I | say, | Surely 
the I darkness shall | cover me : | ^^ I ^^^^ the | night ^ | 
^ shall be | light a- | bout me : | ^"^ | Yea, | ^ the dark- 
ness I hideth not from | thee ; | ^"^ | but the | night | shineth 
as the I day : | "^"^ | ^ the | darkness | and the | light ^ \ 
^ are | both a- [ like H to | thee, m m | 

737. 

MARCO BOZZARIS. 

[He fell in an attack upon the Turkish camp at Lapsi, the site of 
ancient Platsea, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of 
victory.] 

^ At I midnight, | "^^ | in his | guarded | tent, ^ | 
^T The I Turk | ^ was | dreaming | ^ of the j hour, | 

"*^ When I Greece, | ^ her | knee in | suppliance | bent, ^ | 
^ Should I tremble | ^ at his | power ; | 

"^"^ I "^ In I dreams, | "^ through | camp and | court, ^ | 
^ he I bore ^ | 

^ The I trophies | ^ of a | conqueror. | 

In I dreams, | ^ his | song of | triumph | heard ; | ^^ | 

Then ^ \ wore his | monarch's | signet | ring, — | ^^ | 
Then ^ | press'd that | monarch's | throne, — | ^^ | "-] a 

I King; T m I 
^ As I wild his I thoughts, "^ | ^ and | gay of | wing, ^ \ 
^ As 1 Eden's | garden | bird. "1 | IT | 1^ | 

738. 
^ At I midnight, | ^ in the | forest | shades, | ^^ | 

^ Boz- I zaris | ranged his | Suliote | band, | ^^ | 
True I ^ as the | steel | ^ of their | tried | blades, | 

Heroes | "^ in | heart and | hand; | ^T | ^^ 1 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 129 

There had the | Persian's | thousands | stood, "^ | 
There | ^ had the | glad^ | earthy | drunk then- 1 blood ^ | 

T I On I old Pla- | t^a's | day : | 
^ And I now, ^ | ^ there | breathed that | haunted | air ^ | 
The I sons | "^ of | sires who | conquered | there, ^ | 
^ With I arm to | strike ^ | ^ and | soul to | dare, | 

T As I quick, -| I -n n as I far as 1 they. 1 ^ HI | 

739. 
^ An 1 hour pass'd | on— ^ ^ ^ the | Turk a- | woke : 

mi 
That ^ I bright ^ | dream | ^ was his | last; ^ H'^ | 
"^ He I woke — ^ | ^ to | hear his | sentry's | shriek, | 
^ " To I arms ! | ^ they | come ! | ^ the | Greek, ^ | ^ the 

I Greek." ^ | 
^ He I woke — to | die | ^ midst | flame and | smoke, ^ | 
^ And I shout, and | groan, and | sabre stroke, '*1 | 
^^ I ^ And I death-shots | falling | thick and | ifast ^ | 
"^ As I lightnings | ^ from the | mountain | cloud ; "^ | ^"^ | 
^ And I heard, ^ | ^ with | voice as | thunder | loud, ^ | 

^ Boz- I zaris | cheer his | band ; | 
"^^ I *' Strike — ^ | ^ till the | last | armed | foe ex- | pires, 

1 m I 

Strike | ^^ M for your | altars | ^ and your | fires, "^ | 

Strike | ^ for the | green | graves of your | sires, | "^^ | 
God— T I T and your | native | land 1 " T m m | 

740. 
They | fought, ^ | ^ like | brave | men, ^ [ long and | well 

T nil 

^ They | piled that | ground | ^ with | Moslem | slain, ^ \ 
^ They | conquered— | ^^ | but Boz- | zaris | fell, ^ | 
^T I Bleeding at | every | vein. ^ Ml Ml Ml I 
^ His I few sur- | viving | comrades | ^^ \ saw ^ | 
^ His j smile, | "^ when | rang their | proud ^ | hurrah, | 



130 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

And the [ red ^ | field ^ | was | won ; ^ | ^^ | 
Then | saw in | death "^ | "^ his | eyelids | close ^ | 
Calmly, | as to a | night's re- | pose, ^ \ 

T Like I flowers at | set of | sun. "1 MT | IT I 

741. 
Come to the | bridal | chamber, | Death ! ^ | 

Come to the | mother, | '^ when she | feels, '*^ | 
^ For the | first ^ \ time, ^ j ^ her | first-born's | breath ; | 
^^ I Come when the | blessed | seals ^ | 
Which I close the | pestilence | ^ are | broke, "^ | ^^ | 
^ And I crowded | cities | wail its | stroke ; — '*^ | "^"^ | 
Come in con- | sumption's ghastly | form, *^ | 
^ The I earthquake | shock, "^ | ^ the | ocean | storm; — | 
Come when the | heart | beats | high and | warm, "^ | 

^ With I banquet | song, | ^ and | dance, and | wine, '^ | 
"^^ I And I thou art | terrible ! — ^ the | tear, ^ | 
T The I groan, | "1 the | knell, ^ | ^ the | pall, ^ | ^ 

the I bier, | 
"^ And I all we | know, | ^ or | dream, or | fear ^ | 

T Of I agony, M are | thine. Ml m j 

742. 
But to the I hero, | ^ when his | sword "^ | 

^ Has I won the | battle | ^ for the | free, | ^^ | 
^ I Thy voice ^ \ sounds like a | prophet's | word, ^ | ^^ | 
And in its | hollow | tones are | heard ^ | 

^ The I thanks of | millions | yet to i be. "^ | ^^ | ^^ | 
^ Boz- I zaris ! | ^^ | ^ with the | storied | brave ^ | 

Greece | nurtured | ^ in her | glory's time, '*1 | "^^ | 
Rest thee — | ^^ | there is | no | prouder | grave, | 

Even in her | own ^ | proud ^ | clime. | T1 | ^^ | 

^ We I tell thy | doom | ^ with- | out a | sigh; ^ | 
For thou art | Freedom's | now, "^ | ^ and | Fame's ; ^ n^ | 
One of the | few, ^ | ^ the im- | mortal | names, | ^^ | 

T That I were not | born to | die. ^ | ^^ | ^^ | 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 131 

743. 
Antony's oration over Cesar's body. 

Friends, | ^^ | Romans, | ^^ | Countrymen! | ^^ | 

Lend me your | ears; | ^^ M^ | 
*^ I I come I *^ to I bury | Caesar, | "^"^ | not to | praise | 

him. Ml ni I 

^ The I evil, | ^ that | men | do, | lives | after them; | ^^ | 
^ The I good | ^ is | oft in- | terred | ^ with their | 

bones: | ^^ | 
So let it I be I ^ with | Csesar ! m M The | noble | 

Brutus I 
^ Hath I told you, | Caesar | ^ was am- | bitious. | "^"^ | 
If it I were so, | it was a | grievous | fault ; | ^^ | 
^ And I grievously | "^ hath | Caesar | answered it. | ^"^ | 
Here, | under | leave of | Brutus | ^ and the | rest, | 
^ (For I Brutus | ^ is an | honorable | man, | ^^ | 
So are they | all, "^ | all | honorable | men :) | ^^ | 
Come I n to I speak H in | Caesar's [ funeral, m Ml | 

744. 

He was my | friend,* | ^^ | faithful ] T and | just to | 
me: mi 
"^ But I Brutus I says | he was am- | bitious ; | ^^ | 
^^ I ^ And I Brutus | ^ is an | honorable | man. | ^^ | 

T\ I 

He hath | brought | many | captives | home to | Rome, | 
^ Whose I ransoms | ^ did the | general | coffers | fill 

mi Til 

^ Did 1 this n in I Caesar | seem am- | bitious? JT I Tl I 
When that the | poor have | cried, | ^^ | Caesar hath | 

wept; nn I -n I 

^ Am- I bition | "^ should be | made of | sterner | stuff. | 

T\\T\\ 

* See Number 528, page 77. 



132 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

^ Yet I Brutus | says | ^ he | was am- | bitious ; | 
^T I ^ And I Brutus | ^ is an | honorable | man. | ^"^ | 

T\ I 

^ You I all did | see, | ^ that, | on the | Lupercal, | 
*^ I I thrice pre- | sented him | ^ a | kingly j crown ; | 
^T I Which he did | thrice M r^- i fuse. | "IT H ^^^ 

this am- I bition ? | "IT I IT I 
*^ Yet I Brutus | says | he was am- | bitious ; | ^^ | 
^ And I sure, | ^ he | is | ^ an | honorable | man, | ^"^ ] 

745. 

"^^ I ^ I I speak not | ^ to dis- | prove | what | Brutus | 

spoke; | 
^ But I here | I am to | speak | what I do | know. | ^^ | 

*^ You I all did | love him | once ; | ^"^ | not without | 

cause: | "1^ | 
What I cause with- | holds you, | then, | ^ to | mourn | 

for him? m m I 

O I judgment, | '°']'^ | Thou art | fled to | brutish | 

beasts, I ^n I 
T And I men | ^ have | lost their | reason ! MT | "n | 

Bear with me : [ 
^^ I ^ My I heart ^ | is in the | coffin | there | ^ with 

I Cassar ; | 
"^^ I And I must | pause^ | till it | come | back to me. 

m m I 

746. 

^ But I yesterday, | ^ the | word of | Ceesar | might | 
^ Have I stood a- | gainst the | world ! | ^^ | now | lies 

he I there, | 
^"^ I "^ And I none | so | poor | ^ to | do him | rever- 

ence. Ml m | 
O I masters ! | ^^ | If I were dis- | posed to | stir | 
^ Your I hearts and | minds | ^ to j mutiny and | rage, | 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 133 

T should do I Brutus | wrong, | ^ and | Cassius | ^"^ | 

wrong; I 
"^^ I Who, I ^ you I all | know, | ^ are | honorable | men. 

m m I 

T I I will not I do I them | wrong; m M"l | I | rather 

I choose I 
^ To I wrong the | dead, | ^ to | wrong my- | self | ^ 

and I you, | 
Than I will | wrong | such ^ | honorable | men. | ^^ | 

T\ I 

747. 
'^ But I here's a | parchment | ^ with the | seal of | 

Ceesar; | 
T I I found it I T in his | closet; | ^"1 | 'Tis his | will: 

nil 

Let but the | commons | hear | ^ this | testament, | ^^ | 
^ (Which, I pardon me, | ^ I | do not | mean to | read,) | 
'^^ I And they would | go | ^ and | kiss | dead | Caesar's 

I wounds, I 
"^ And I dip their | napkins | "^ in his | sacred | blood ; | 
"^^ I Yea, I beg a | hair of him | ^ for | memory, | 
"^ And I dying, | "^^ | mention it | within their | wills, | 
^^ I ^ Be- I queathing it | "^ as a | rich ^ | legacy, | 
Unto their | issue. | ^ 1^ | 

748. 
If yon have | tears, | ^ pre- | .pare to | shed them | 

now. m m I 

'^ You I all do I know | this | mantle : | ^"^ | I remem- 
ber | 
"^ The I first | time | ever | Ceesar | put it | on ; | ^^ | 
'Twas on a | summer's | evening, | ^ in his | tent ; | ^^ | 
That I day I ^ he I overcame the | Nervii : M^ | I'l | 
Look ! I ^ in j this | place | ran | Cassius' | dagger | 

through! m m I 

See what a J rent | ^ the | envious | Casca | made ! | ^^ 

I T\ I 



134 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

Through | this | ^ the | well be- | loved | Brutus | stabbed, 

\T\ I 

^"^ I And as he | plucked his | cursed | steel a- | way | 
"^^ I Mark ^ | how the | blood of | Cajsar | followed it 

\T\\T\\ 

749. 
This I ^ was the | most un- | kindest | cut of | all ! | 
"^•^^ I ^ For I when the | noble [ Caesar | saw | him | stab, | 
'^ In- I gratitude, | "^ more | strong than | traitor's | arms, | 
Quite I vanquished him : | "^"^ | then | burst his | mighty 

heart; | ^^ | 
And in his | mantle | "^^ | muffling up his | face, | "^^ | 
Even at the | base of | Pompey's | statue, | 
^^ i ^ (Which I all the I while | ran | blood,) | ^^ | 

great | C^sar | fell. MT m | 
Oh! what a | fall | ^ was | there, | ^ my | countrymen! | 

Then | I, ^ and | you, H and | all of us, | fell | down, | 
Whilst ^ I bloody | treason | flourished | over us. | ^^ | 

T\ I 

Oh ! I now you | weep ; | '^'"^ | "^ and I per- | ceive | ^ you 

I feel I 
^ The I dint of | pity ; | ^^ | these | ^ are | gracious | 

drop.. Ml m I 

Kind I souls; | '^'^ \ what, | weep you | ^^ \ when you 

but be- I hold | 
T Our I Caesar's | vesture | wounded ? | ^^ | ^^ | Look 

you I here! \ Tl \ T\ \ 
Here is him- | self, | ^^ | marr'd, | ^ as you | see, | ^ by 

I traitors. M^ Ml | 

750. 
Good I friends, ] sweet | friends, | ^^ | let me not | 
stir you | up | 
T To I such a I sudden | flood of | mutiny. | ^"^ | 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 135 

"^^ I They~that have | done this | deed, | "^ are | honor- 
able : I 

"^^ I What I private | griefs | ^ they | have, | ^ a- | las ! 
I "^ I I know not, | 

^ That I made them | do it : | ^^ | they are | wise, | 
^ and I honorable, | 

^ And I will, ^ I no I doubt, | ^ with | reason | answer 

you. m m I 



751. 
'^ I I come not, | friends, | "^ to | steal away | "^ your | 

hearts; | ^^ | 
I am I no I orator, | ^ as | Brutus is; j 
^^ I But as you | know me | all, | "^ a | plain | blunt | 

man, | 
^ That I love my | friend ; | ^"1 | ^ and | that | they | 

know I full I well | 
'^ That I gave me | public | leave | '^ to | speak of him. 

m nil 

752. 

For I have | neither | wit, | ^ nor | words, | ^ nor | 

worth, I ^T 1 
Action, I ^ nor | utterance, | ^ nor the | power of | speech, | 
^ To I stir I men's | blood. | ^^ | ^ I only | speak | 

right I on: m I 
^ I I tell you I that | ^ which | you yourselves | ^ do | 

know; | 
'^^ I Show you I sweet | Caesar's | wounds, | ^^ \ poor, | 

I poor I dumb | mouths, | 
T And I bid I them | speak | for me. \ "^ | "1^ | But 

were | I | Brutus, | 
^ And I Brutus | Antony, | "^^ | there were an | Antony | 
"^ Would I ruffle | up your | spirits, | ^^ | ^ and | put a 

I tongue I 



136 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

^ In I every | wound of | Caesar, | ^ that should | move | 
"^ The I stones of | Rome | "^ to | rise in | mutiny. | 

m m I 

The preceding examples, including both poetry and prose, it is 
thought, will be sufficient to explain the principle embraced in this 
lesson, entitled the Measure of Speech. The pupil should endeavor, 
in all his reading exercises, to form the sentences, whether of poetry 
or prose, into measures, for the purpose of reading with facility and 
without fatigue. The pauses or rests which occur in the imperfect- 
measures, will afford him an opportunity of taking breath at such in- 
tervals, that, in the words of Dr. Barber, " reading will cease to be 
laborious, and the sense will be rendered clear, as far as it is depend- 
ent on the capital point of the distribution of time, or measure." The 
principle explained in this lesson, when well understood, and judi- 
ciously applied, will make the pupil acquainted with the nature of all 
the different kinds of versification ; for he will perceive that all the 
varieties of poetry (or verse) are dependent upon the regular succes- 
sion of the various measures of speech." * 



LESSON XXXVI. 

MANNER OF READING POETRY. 



The division of poetry into verses, t addressing themselves to the 
eye, is often the cause of what is called a " sing song " utterance, which 
it should be the study of every good reader to avoid. \_Sce note un 
'page 122.] 

In the last lesson, the attention of the pupil was drawn to the meas- 
ure OF SPEECH — a subject, which, although it is very important in 
prose, is doubly so in the reading of poetry or verse, as it determines 
a question which has long been debated by teachers of the art of read- 
ing, viz. whether a pause snould be made at the end of every line. 

It is maintained by a very respectable writer, that in reading ^ blank 
verse^ " we ought to make every line sensible to the ear ; for what " 
(it is asked by the writer) " is tlie use of the melody, or for what end 
has the poet composed in verse, if, in reading his lines, we suppress his 

* A greater variety of exercises for reading-, divided into measures, may be 
found in Dr. Barber's Grammar of Elocution. 

They, who have any curiosity to know the manner in which Garrick pro- 
nounced Hamlet's Soliloquy on Death, are referred to Steele's Prosodia 
Rationalis, (edition of 1779, p. 40, et seq.,) where it is divided into measures, 
and accented. Dr. Barber's method of dividing speech is identical with Mr. 
Steele's. 

t See Parker and Fox's Grammar, Part III., page 61, No. 160, and the rwte. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 137 

numbers, by omitting the final pause, and degrade them, by our pro- 
nunciation, into mere prose?" 

The remarlis made in the previous lesson are a sufficient reply to 
this question. It is there staled that all sentences that are, or can be, 
read or pronounced, are divisible into measures ; and that the only 
difference there is in sound between prose and verse is, that ver«e con- 
sists of a regular succession of similar measures, while in prose the 
different kinds of measure occur promiscuously, without any i-egular 
succession. Now, if this be the case, as it undoubtedly is, there will 
be no necessity of a pause at the end of the line, to render the melody 
sensible to the ear. Indeed, it will be impossible for the reader, who 
pays proper attention to the measures into which all poetical lines are 
divided, to conceal the melody which the lines possess. The art of 
the poet, so far as the harmony is concerned, consists -in such an ar- 
rangement of his measures, as to leave little for the reader to do, in 
order to convey the melod}^ to the hearer; and those lines which re- 
quire ' humoring^' in order that the music of the versification may be 
distinguished, have little title to the name of verse. 

The only direction, therefore, which it is necessary to give the 
pupil in reading verse is, to endeavor to forget, or rather to disregard, 
the division of the sentences into lines, and to read with the same in- 
flections, accent, tone, emphasis, and expression, that he would use 
in reading prose. 

In addition to the remarks which were made in the last lesson in 
relation to the pauses caused by imperfect measures of speech, it re- 
mains to be observed that there is generally a pause, which belongs 
exclusively to poetry, called the C^sura,* or the Caesural pause. 
This pause must always be properly regarded ; and in studying a 
reading lesson in verse, the pupil must be careful to ascertam where 
this pause belongs. It is generally made alter the fourth, fifth, or 
sixth syllable in the line ; bujL it is sometimes found after the third or 
the seventh, and occasionally even after the second or the eighth. 

In the following lines, the place where the caesura, or the caesural 
pause, is to be made, is indicated by a figure, and the parallel lines |[ ; 
and in reading them, the pupil will remember to make a slight pause 
when he comes to the figure. 

753. 

The ccBsura after the 4:th syllable. 
The Savior comes, ^ 1| by ancient bards foretold. 

754. 

The ccBsura after the 5th syllable. 

From storms a shelter, ^ H and from heat a shade. 

* The word ccesura means a cut, or division. An attentive observer will 
not fail to notice that the beauty and grace of English versification depends 
much upon the situation of^ the caesura. The poet has it in his power, by 
diversifying- its position, to give his numbers a grateful variety, which they 
would not otherwise possess. They, who would see this subject more fully 
discussed, \vill find some valuable remarks in the work of Dr. Carey, entitled 
" Practical English Prosody,'" London ed. 1816, p. 59. See also Parker 
and Fox's Grammar, Part III., No. 183. 

12=^ 



138 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

755. 

The ccDSura after the 6th syllable. 
Exalt thy lofty head, ^ || and lift thine eyes. 

756. 

The ccBsura after the 3c? syllable. 

Exploring, ^ |[ till they find their native deep. 

757. 

The ccBsura after the 1th syllable. 
Within that mystic circle '^ H safety seek. 

758. 

The ccBsura after the 2d syllable. 

Happy, 2 II without the privilege of will. 

759. 

The ccBsura after the 8th syllable. 

In different individuals ^ || we find. 

In some lines, besides the caesura, there is also what is 
called the demi-ccesura, or half caesura, at which the pause is 
very slight, as in the following lines, in which the demi-cae- 
sura is marked with a single accent, and the caesura with a 
double accent. 

760. 
Warms ' in the sun, " refreshes ' in the breeze, 
Glows ' in the stars, " and blossoms ' in the trees ; 
Lives' through all life" ; extends' through all extent, 
Spreads' undivided," operates' unspent. 

The pupil will recollect that no pause must be made, and es- 
pecially that the falling infection of the voice must not be used 
at the end of the line, unless the sense requires it. In the 
following extract, the pause, with the falling infection, occurs 
in that part of the line indicated by the grave accent. The 
extract is from the description of the deluge in Paradise Lost. 

761. 
Meanwhile the south wind rose, and with black wings, 
Wide hovering, all the clouds together drove 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 139 

From under heaven : the hills, to their supply, 
Vapor and exhalation dusk and moist 
Sent up amain : and now the thickened sky- 
Like a dark ceiling stood ; down rushed the rain 
Impetuous, and continued, till the earth 
No more was seen ; the floating vessel swam 
Uplifted, and secure with beaked * prow 
Rode tilting o'er the waves. 

A Simile, t or Comparison, in poetry, should he slurred; | 
that is, it should be read in a lower tone of voice, with less 
force, and more rapidly. 

In the following lines the simile is contained in Italic 
letters. 

762. 
Tired nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep! 
He, like the world, his ready visits pays 
Where fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes; 
Swift on his downy pinions, flies from grief, 
And lights on lids unsullied with a tear. 

763. 

Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms; 
And dear that hill which lifts him from the storms; 
And, as a child, 7vhom scaring sounds molest. 
Clings close and closer to his mother's breast, 
So the loud torrent, and the whirlwind's roar, 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 

764. 
The skies, like a banner in sunset unrolled. 
O'er the west threw their splendor of azure and gold ; 
But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increased 
Till its margin of black touched the zenith and east. 

Lilce a spirit, it came in the van of a storm ! 
And the eye, and the heart, hailed its beautiful form, 
For it looked not severe, like an angel of wrath, 
But its garment of brightness illumed its dark path. 

* This word, by poetic license, must be pronounced as a dissyllable, beak-ed. 
See Parker and Fox's Grammar, Part III., No. 207 and 251. 

t See Parker's Exercises in English Composition, Lesson 30, p. 56, for an 
explanation of Simile, or Comparison. 

I See Lesson 34, p. 11 3, of this volume, for an explanation of the slur. 



140 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

765. 
So live, that when thy summons comes to join 
The innumerable caravan, that moves 
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take 
His chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon ; but sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

The word verse properly means a turning, and for this reason each 
line in poetry is a verse. The divisions of a poem, whether tiiey con- 
sist of four, six, or any other number of verses or lines, are called 
stanzas* The pupil must be careful not to pause at the end of a 
stanza, unless the sense is completed. The following are instances in 
which, as the sense is not completed, the voice must not be suspended 
at the end of the stanza. 

766. 
In what rich harmony, what polished lays, 
Should man address thy throne, when Nature pays 
Her wild, her tuneful tribute to the sky ! 
Yes, Lord, she sings thee, but she knows not why. 
The fountain's gush, the long-resounding shore, 
The zephyr's whisper, and the tempest's roar, 
The rustling leaf, in autumn's fading woods. 
The wintry storm, the rush of vernal floods, 
The summer bower, by cooling breezes fanned, 
The torrent's fall, by dancing rainbows spanned 
The streamlet, gurgling through its rocky glen. 
The long grass, sighing o'er the graves of men, 
The bird that crests yon dew-bespangled tree, 
Shakes his bright plumes, and trills his descant free, 
The scorching bolt, that, from thine armory hurled, 
Burns its red path, and cleaves a shrinking world; 
All these are music to Religion's ear : — 
Music, thy hand awakes, for man to hear. 

767. 
Oh, what is human glory, human pride? 
What are man's triumphs when they brightest seem 1 

* See Parker and Fox's Grammar, Part III., No. 160, and the note. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 141 

What art thou, mighty one! though deified? 
Methuselah's long pilgrimage, a dream; 
Our age is but a shade, our life a tale, 
A vacant fancy, or a passing gale 

Or nothing ! 'Tis a heavy, hollow ball, 

Suspended on a slender, subtile hair, 

And filled with storm winds, thunders, passions, all 

Struggling within in furious tumult there. 

Strange mystery ! man's gentlest breath can shake it. 

And the light zephyrs are enough to break it. 

768. 
Beneath the aged oak he sleeps ; — 

The angel of his childhood there 
No watch around his tomb-stone keeps ; 

But, when the evening stars appear, 

The woodman, to his cottage bound, 
Close to that grave is wont to tread : 

But his rude footsteps echoed round. 
Break not the silence of the dead. 

769. 
The applause of listening senates to command. 

The threats of pain and ruin to despise. 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 

And read their history in a nation's eyes, — 

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 

Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined; — 

Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
4Lnd shut the gates of mercy on mankind ! 



LESSON XXXVII. 

MONOTONE. 

In the previous parts of this book, the pupil has been made ac- 
quainted with those modifications of tlie voice called the rismg in- 
flection, the falling inflection, and the circumflex* There is another 

* See Lessons 1, 2, aud 22. 



142 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

modulation of the voice, which, from its intimate connexion with the 
reading of poetry of a solemn kind, has been reserved for explanation 
m this place. It is called the Monotone, and consists of a degree of 
sameness of sound, or tone, in a number of successive words or syl- 
lables. 

It is very seldom the case that there is a perfect sameness to be ob- 
served in reading any sentence or part of a sentence. But very 
little variety of tone, or, in other words, a degree of the monotone, is 
to be used in reading either prose or verse, which contains elevated 
descriptions, or emotions of solemnity, sublimity, or reverence. This 
monotone should generally be a low tone of the voice. Thus, in ad- 
dressing the Deity, in the following lines, a degree of the monotone 
is to be used. 

770. 

O Thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright 
All space doth occupy, all motion guide ; 
Unchanged through time's all devastating flight ; 
Thou only God ! There is no God beside ! 
Being above all beings ! Mighty One ! 
Whom none can comprehend and none explore ; 
Who fill'st existence with Thyself alone : 
Embracing all, — supporting, — ruling o'er — 
Being whom we call God -^- and know no more. 



The monotone is also to be used in the following extracts 



771. 

High on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus or of Ind ; 
Or where the gorgeous East, with richest hand, 
Showers, on her kings barbaric, pearl and gold, 
Satan exalted sat. 

772. 

The sky is changed ! and such a change ! O Night, 
And Storm, and Darkness, ye are wondrous strong, 
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light 
Of a dark eye in woman ! Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
Leaps the live thunder ! — not from one lone cloud. 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue ; 
And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 143 

773. 

And this is in the night : — most glorious night ! 

Thou wert not made for slumber ! let me be 

A sharer in thy fierce and fair delight, — 

A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 

How the lit lake shines, — a phosphoric sea — 

And the big rain comes dancing to the earth ! 

And now, again, 'tis black — and now, the glee 

Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth, 

As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth. 

774. 
Sky, mountains, river, winds, lake, lightnings ! ye, 
With night, and clouds, and thunder, and a soul 
To make these felt and feeling, well may be 
Things that have made me watchful : the far roll 
Of your departing voices is the knoll 
Of what in me is sleepless, — if I rest. 
But where, of ye, O tempests ! is the goal 1 
Are ye like those within the human breast? 
Or do ye find, at length, like eagles, some high nest? 

775. 
And in the bright blaze of thy festal hall. 
When vassals kneel, and kindred smile around thee, 
May ruin'd Bertram's Pledge hiss in thine ear — 
Joy to the proud dame of Saint Aldobrand, 
Whilst his corse doth bleach beneath her towers ! 

776. 
O crested Lochiel, the peerless in might, 
Whose banners arise on the battlement's height. 
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn ! 
Return to thy dwelling ! all lonely return ! 
For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood. 
And a wild mother's scream o'er her famishing brood. 

777. 
Oh, when he comes, 
Rous'd by the cry of wickedness extreme, 
To heaven ascending from some guilty land, 
Now ripe for vengeance ; when he comes, array'd 



144 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

In all the terrors of Almighty wrath, — 
Forth from his bosom plucks his lingering arm, 
And on the miscreants pours destruction down, — 
Who can abide his coming ? Who can bear 
His whole displeasure ? 

778. 
In thoughts from the visions of the night, when deep sleep 
falleth on men, fear came upon me, and trembling, which made 
all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face ; 
the hair of my flesh stood up : it stood still, but I could not 
discern the form thereof : an image was before mine eyes, there 
was silence, and I heard a voice, saying. Shall mortal man be 
more j ust than God ? shall a man be more pure than his Maker ? 

The monotone may with good effect be introduced in many of the sen- 
tences contained in the previous pages of this book, especially in Numbers 614 
and 615, page 101 . As it is the design of the author, in these pages, to furnish 
lessons,^ I'ather than exercises, in reading, the extracts already introduced 
will be sufficient to impress the principle contained in this lesson. 



LESSON XXXYIII. 

ANALYSIS. 

The word ANALYSisf 7neans the separation of the parts of which a thing 
is composed. 

Every sentence, whether it be a long or a short one, contains ove prominent 
idea, which, by a proper management of the voice, must he brought out into 
clear and distinct notice. It sometimes happens, especially in very long sen- 
tences, that the prominent idea is interrupted or obscured t)y parentheses, 
descriptions, explanatory remarks, or other expressions, which'render it diffi- 
cult for the reader to distinguish the most important part, and give it tliat 
prominence which it deserves. Herein lies the greatest difficulty in the art 
of reading. No rule can be given to aid the pupil in the discovery of the prom- 
inent ideas in his reading lessons. He must here he left to study and reflec- 
tion. The information, however, that there a;e such prominent ideas in com- 
])lex sentences, will lead him to endeavor to discover them ; and the practice 
which he has had in the use of emphasis, slur, expression, and other princi- 
ples contained in the preceding lessons, will enable him to apply himself to the 
studyof such sentences, with the hope of distinguishing the parts which should 
be brought into strong light, from those which require to be thrown into the 
shade. To aid him in the study, a few examples are here introduced. 

779. 

The rivulet sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its 
bed of pebbly sands, or leaping down the rocks, seems with 
continuous laughter to rejoice in its own being. 

* See preface, p. 5. t See Parker's Exercises in English Composition, p. 23. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 145 

In this sentence, one principal idea is expressed, namely, that the 
rivulet sends forth glad sounds, and seems to rejoice in its own being. 
This idea must therefore be brought out prominently ; while the ex- 
pressions tripping o'er its bed of pebbly sards, and leaping dotcn the 
rocks, are merely descriptions of the appearai.ce of the river, and need 
not be so emphatically marked. The same remark must be made 
with regard to the expression with continuous laughter, which is only 
an explanation of the manner in which it rejoices. These expressions 
may be slightly slurred.* 

In reading the sentence, therefore, he will express it as follows, pro- 
nouncing the parts in Italic letters with less emphatic force than the 
prominent idea. 

780, 
The rivulet sends forth glad sounds, and tripping o'er its 
bed of pebbly sands, or li aping down the rocks, seems with 
continuous laughter to rejoice in its own being, t 

In the following sentences, all the parts, except the prominent ideas, 
are printed in Italic letters. The pupil will read them as directed 
above. 

In order that the pupil may clearly distinguish the prominent parts, 
he may first read them with the omission of the parts in Italic letters, 
and afterwards read the whole of each sentence as it stands 

781. 
There was a delicious sensation of mingled security and 
awe, with which I looked diown from my giddy height on the 
monsters of the deep at their uncouth gambols. Shoals of 
porpoises tumbling about the bows of the ship ; the grampus 
slowly heaving his huge form above the surface; or the rave- 
nous shark, darting like a spectre through the blue waters. 

782. 
The devout heart, penetrated with large and affecting views 
of the immensity of the works of God, the harmony of his 
laws, and the extent of his beneficence, bursts into loud and 
vocal expressions of praise and adoration; Mid. from a full 
and overflowing sensibility, seeks to expand itself to the ut- 
most limits of creation. 

In the following sentence, the pupil may read, first, that only which 
is in capital letters ; then all but the Italic ; and, thirdly, the whole 

* See Lesson 34. 

t This sentence occurs on the 115th page, where it is differently marked. It 
is here used for illustration only. Some readers may prefer one method, and 
some another ; for there are probably few who would read any passage in 
exactly the same manner. 

13 



146 



INTRODUCTORy LESSONS. 



sentence. He will thus distinguish the various parts of a complex 
sentence. 

783. 
CAN HE, who, not satisfied with the wide range of ani' 
mated existence, calls for the sympathy of the inanimate crea- 
tion, REFUSE TO WORSHIP with his fellow-men ? 

It may here be remarked, that the most promi^nent part sometimes 
consists of a single word, or perhaps of several words, which cannot 
be separated from the connexion in which they stand, as in the fol- 
lowing example : — 

784. 
Oh, days of ancient GRANDEUR ! are ye GONE ? For- 
ever GONE ? Do these same scenes behold his OFF- 
SPRING here the HIRELING of a FOE? Oh that I 
KNEW my FATE! that I could READ the destiny that 
Heaven has marked for me ! 

785. 
WHENCE, and WHAT art thou, EXECRABLE shape ! 
That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 

To yonder gates? THROUGH THEM I mean to PASS ; 
That be assured, without leave asked of thee : 
RETIRE, or taste thy FOLLY; and learn by PROOF, 
Hell-born ! not to contend with spirits of HEAVEN ! 

786. 
What means this SHOUTING? I do fear, the people 
Choose Caesar for their KING. 
Ay, do you FEAR it? 

Then must I think you WOULD NOT HAVE it so. 
I would NOT, Cassius; yet I LOVE him well. 

787. 
And thus, in silent waiting, stood 
The piles of stone, and piles of wood ; 
Till DEATH — who, in his vast affairs, 
Ne'er puts things off, as men in theirs; 
And thus, if I the truth must tell. 
Does his work finally and well — 
WINKED at our hero as he past, 
" Your house is finished, sir, at last; 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 147 

A narrower houg^e — a house of clay — 
Your palace for another day ! " 

In the analysis of a sentence, with the view to read it correctly, 
there are generally three things to be considered by the pupil ; name- 
ly : First, What are the most prominent parts, or those which require 
emphasis — Secondly, What parts are merely explanatory, and conse- 
quently are to be slurred or thrown into shade — Thirdly, What parts, 
separated by explanatory, descriptive, or other circumstances, are inti- 
mately connected with each other, and must have their intimate connex- 
ion expressed by strong emphasis, or by slurring the parts which sep- 
arate them. 

The pupil may analyze the following sentences ; that is to say, he 
may mark and read those parts or words only which are most prom- 
inent, and require strong emphasis. He may then mention what parts 
are merely explanatory, &c. And then he may point out those parts 
which, though distant from the eye, are closely connected in sense. 
Lastly, he may read each sentence as it stands, endeavoriiig to manage 
the emphasis, slur, and expression, in the manner in which he has 
heretofore been directed.* 

788. 
How reverend is the face of this tall pile, 
Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads, 
To bear aloft its arch'd t and ponderous'roof, 
By its own weight made steadfast and immovable, 
Looking tranquillity ! It strikes an awe 
And terror on my aching sight : the tombs 
And monumental caves of death look cold, 
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart. 

789. 

Winter ! ruler of the inverted year ! 

Thy scattered hair with sleet, like ashes, filled, 
Thy breath congealed upon thy lips, thy cheeks 
Fringed with a beard made white with other snows 
Than those of age, thy forehead wrapt in clouds, 
A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne 
A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, 
But urged by storms along its slippery way, 

1 love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st,t 
And dreaded as thou art. 

* It is recommended that the pupil be required to inrite a few of these sen- 
tences in the manner directed above, underscoring with a single lijie such 
parts as are lo be in Italic letters, with a double line such as should be in small 
capitals, aqd with three lines such as should be in large capitals. See Parker 
and Fox's Grammar, Part ITI., page 39. 

t The pupil will often notice in poetry such abbreviations as these, where 
the apostrophe shows that some letter is left out. [See Lesson 20, page 63.] 



148 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

790. • 
Slaves cannot breathe in England ; if their lungs 
Receive our air, that moment they are free : 
They touch our country, and their shackles fall. 
That's noble, and bespeaks a nation proud 
And jealous of the blessing. Spread it then, 
And let it circulate through every vein 
Of all your empire ; that where Britain's power 
Is felt, mankind may feel her mercy too. 

791. 
Trifles, light as air, 
Are, to the jealous, confirmations strong 
As proofs of holy writ. 

Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons, 
Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste, 
But, with a little act upon the blood, 
"^urn like the mines of sulphur. 

792. 
I come no more to make you laugh; things now, 
That bear a weighty and a serious brow, 
Sad, high, and working, full of state and woe, 
Such noble scenes, as draw the eye to flow. 
We now present. Those, that can pity, here 
May, if they think it well, let fall a tear ; 
The subject will deserve it. 

793. 
Thou hast it now, King, Cawdor, Glamis, all, 
As the weird women promised ; and I fear. 
Thou play'dst most foully for it : yet it was said, 
It should not stand in thy posterity ; 
But that myself should be the root and father 
Of many kings. If there come truth from them, 
(As upon thee, Macbeth, their speeches shine,) 
Why, by the verities made good. 
May they not be my oracles as well. 
And set me up in hope 1 

Thus arch'd for arched, slipp'7-y for slippery, seem'st for seemest. These ab- 
breviations are generally made for thf purpose of shortening ihe word^ and 
thereby preserving the measure of the verse. But they are very seldom allowed 
in prose. See Parker and Fox's Gram;nar, Part lU., No. 207, &c. 



I 



mTROBUCTORY LESSONS, 149 

794. 
Lochiel, Lochie], beware of the day, 
For dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, 
But man cannot cover what God would reveal. 
'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, 
And coming events cast their shadows before. 
I tell thee, Culloden's* dread echoes shall ring 
With the blood-hounds that bark for thy fugitive king. 

795. 
Lo ! anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, 
Behold, where he flies on his desolate path ! 
Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my sight: 
Rise ! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight 1 
'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the moors, 
Culloden is lost, and mv country deplores. 

796. 

Impose upon me whatever hardships you please ; give me 
nothing but the bread of sorrow to eat; take from me the 
friends in whom I had placed my confidence; lay me in the 
cold hut of poverty, and on the thorny bed of disease ; set 
death before me in all its terrors ; do all this, — only let me 
trust in my Savior, and I will fear no evil, — I will rise supe- 
rior to affliction, — I will rejoice in my tribulation. 

797. 
The Highlands of Scotland are a picturesque, but in gen- 
eral a melancholy, country. Long tracts of mountainous 
desert covered with dark heath, and often obscured by misty 
weather ; narrow valleys, thinly inhabited, and bounded by 
precipices resounding with the fall of torrents; a soil so 
rugged, and a clime so dreary, as in many parts to admit 
neither the amusements of pasturage, nor the labors of agri- 
culture ; the mournful dashing of waves along the friths and 
lakes that intersect the country ; the portentous noises which 
every change of the wind, ajfd every increase and diminution 
of the waters, is apt to raise in a lonely region, full of echoes, 
and rocks, and caverns; the grotesque and ghastly appear- 
ance of such a landscape by the light of the moon ; objects 
like these diff*use a gloom over the fancy, which may be 

* Pronounced CuUod'en's. 

13=^ 



150 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

compatible enough with occasional and social merriment, 
but cannot fail to tincture the thoughts even of an ordinary 
native in the hour of silence and solitude. 

798.* 

To be — or not to be — that is the question — 

Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 

The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 

Or to take arras against assail t of troubles, 

And, by opposing, end them? — To die, — to sleep, — 

No more; and, by a sleep, to say we end 

The heartache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. 

799. 

To die ; — to sleep ; — 
To sleep ! perchance to dream ; — ay, there's the rub ; 
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come. 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
Must give us pause : There's the respect, 
That makes calamity of so long life : 
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 
The pangs of despised | love, the law's delay, 
The insolence of office, and the spurns 
That patient merit of the unworthy takes, 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear. 
To grunt and sweat under a weary life; 
But that the dread of something after death, — 
The undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
No traveller returns, — puzzles the will; 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 
Than fly to others that we know not of? 

* In reading this extract, the pupil must rftcall to mind the remarks made on 
the 69lh page, relating: to accent. 

t In most of the editions of Shakspeare we read, " to take arms against a 
sea of troubles}" but this expression is a manifest violation of all rhetorical 
rule. [See Progressive Exercises in English Composition, Lesson 25, p. 49.J 
The improved reading in this passage is taken from Steele's " Prosodia Ila 
tionalis," a work already referred to in a preceding note. 

t See note to No. 761. 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 151 

SOO. 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all, 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 
With this regard, their currents turn awry, 
And lose the name of action. 



LESSON XXXIX. 

BLENDING OF WORDS PRODUCED BY AC- 
CENTED FORCE. 

Under the head of accented force, Mr. Walker, in his 
Rhetorical Grammar, has noticed the peculiar manner in 
which words, or parts of different words, are sometimes 
blended, so as to appear in pronunciation like a single word. 
Thus the sentence, *' Censure is the tax a man pays to the 
public for being eminent," when it is read with a proper 
regard to the measure of speech, accent, emphasis, &c., will 
appear as if it were written thus : — 

801. 

Censure isthetax amanpays tothepublic 

forbeingeminent. 

It will be needless to insert any extracts for the exercise 
of the pupil in this principle. The teacher will select from 
any part of the book such sentences for him to read as will 
enable him readily to perceive the difference between ac- 
cented words and accented syllables. 

It may here be remarked, that most kinds of reading are included in 
the three terms Narrative, Descriptive, and Expressive ; each 
of which is respectively characterized by its appropriate degree of ac- 
cented force ; and it is proper that the pupil, in studying a reading 
lesson, should endeavor to discern under w^hich head his lesson is in- 
cluded, in order to adapt his style of reading to the character of the 



152 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



piece, 
book. 



On this subject much has been said in the previous lessons of this 
It remains for the pupil, who has gone through these lessons in 



course, to endeavor to apply the instructions given him, in all the various 
kinds of reading in which he may be exercised. If he has a correct ear, 
he will not fail to observe tbat both the rising and falling inflections of the 
voice admit of different degrees. These are technically described in Dr. 
Barber's Grammar of Elocution, and more fully developed in the respec- 
tive works of Dr. Rush and Mr. Steele, to which reference has already 
been made. The subject is also particularly noticed in Walker's Rhetor- 
ical Grammar. In these exercises, it is deemed inexpedient to present any 
intricate views of the subject ; but, after the statement of a principle, to 
leave the pupil to the guidance of Nature. [>S'ee preface and title-page.\ 



LESSON XL. 



IMPROVEMENT OF THE VOICE 



The voice, like all the other faculties of the body or the mind, is 
susceptible of great improvement; and under proper management, 
on? that is naturally feeble may be rendered more eiFective than an- 
other, which is endowed v(?ith great strength. The two most important 
requisites in a good voice are clearness and strength. In the 
twenty-fifth lesson of this book, some exercises are presented with the 
design to accustom the pupil to distinct articulation. If he has passed 
over that lesson with little attention, he is advised to return to it; 
and, by persevering practice, acquire a facility in the pronunciation of 
those sounds which are represented by the combination of the con- 
sonants alone. In connexion with this exercise, he is advised to 
practise the vowel sounds, in the manner which shall presently be 
pointed out. 



The Sounds of the Voicels are as follows . 



as heard in the word 



fate 


o 


far 


o 


fall 


o 


fat 


u 


me 


u 


met 


u 


pine 


oi 


pin 


ou 


no 





as heard in the word 



move 

nor 

not 

tube 

tub 

bull 

voice 

sound 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



153 



The Sounds of the Consonants are as follows : — 



b 


as in 


bible 


rob 


t 


as in 


tool 


not 


d 


(( u 


dare 


bed 


V 


U ii 


vine 


have 


f 


(( (( 


fate 


brief 


w 


(( u 


wine 




g 


<( ti 


gone 
hand 


brag 


X 


(( (( 


example 




h 


<l li 




y 


(( (( 


yes 




t 


(( u 


jade 




z 


U (( 


zone 


adze 


H (( 


kind 


sick 


ch 


(( (( 


chair 


church 


1 


C< it 


land 


ball 


ng 


u u 


long 




m 


u u 


mine 


him 


sh 


u u 


shine 


hush 


n 


il n 


now- 


>in 


th 


(( (( 


thou 




P 


(( u 


put 


lip 


th 


aspirate 


thin 




q 


(( a 


quince 




wh 


it (( 


when 




r 


le ii 


ring 


bar 


zh 


44 <; 


azure 




s 


C( li 


since 


kiss 











These sounds of the vowels and consonants should be uttered in 
various ways. 

1st. Let the pupil practise what is called exploding* them ; that is, 
let him pronounce each of them in a quick, sudden manner, like the 
report of a pistol. 

2d. Let him prolong the same sounds, with care, to preserve their 
purity. 

3d. Let him practise both the abrupt and the prolonged sounds of 
each, in conjunction with the consonants, and the combination of the 
consonants presented in Lesson 25. 

4th. Let him practise all the above-mentioned sounds, in each of the 



* " This practice," says Dr. Barber, " will be found a more effectual method 
than any other of obtaining a strong and powerful voice — of strengthening 
such voices as are feeble, and of giving fulness and strength of tone to all in 
proportion to their natural capacities.' He adds, immediately after, ''The 
student has not obtained that use of his voice which it is the object of this 
table to teach him, until ever}' sound it contains can be uttered with the sud- 
denness of the report of fire-arms, without aaiy apparent effort preceding the 
explosion, with a very high degree of percussive force, and with strength and 
fulness of tone." Again, he says in another place, '' We know that persons 
with feeble voices have been rendered capable of speaking forcibly and im- 
pressively in public, by a perseverance in the practice here recommended." 
— Gram, of Elocution, p. 30. — Dr. Barber's work cannot be too highly recom- 
mended to all who would pursue this subject scientifically. In this lesson the 
author has departed in some respects from the arrangement of the vowel 
sounds, as presented in the tables of Dr. Barber, and adopted that which is 
contained in the spelling books commonly used. These lessons are designed 
principally as an introduction to the subject, and not as a full treatise. They 
who have leisure for a more extended view, are referred to Dr. Barber's 
Grammar, and to the very able, scientific, and more voluminous work to 
which reference has been already made — Dr. Rush on " The Philosophy of the 
Human Voice." Mr. Steele's work, entitled " Prosodia Rationalis," is like- 
wise well worthy the attention of those who would acquire a thorough knowl- 
edge of the powers and peculiarities of the human voice. 



154 INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 

different pitches or keys of the voice, mentioned in Lesson 27, p. 95 ; 
and likewise in a whisper. * 

Among the consonants there are two which require particular atten- 
tion, namely, I and r ; and if there are any letters, the correct and dis- 
tinct articulation of which distinguish a good from a bad pronuncia- 
tion, they are these two. 

It is recommended that the pupil be thoroughly exercised in the 
pronunciation of words which contain these letters, especially the r. 
This letter has two sounds, called the smooth and the vHnant. The 
vibrant r is pronounced by what is frequently called rolling the tongue. 
This sound, when properly made, is one which is highly pleasing to 
the ear; but when too much prolonged, it becomes harsh and offensive, 
and is suited only for a rough or energetic utterance. Dr. Rush says 
that it *' will be agreeable when it consists of one, or at most two or 
three strokes and rebounds of the tongue." 

The smooth r is that sound which is heard in the words baid, curd^ 
hard. In such words it savors of affectation or provincialism to sub- 
stitute the vibrant r 



EXERCISE ON THE SOUNDS OF L AND JL 
802. 

The lordly lion leaves his lonely lair. 

803. 
He was long, lean, and lank, and laughed loudly. 

804. 
How sweetly slow the liquid lay 
In holy hallelujahs rose! 

805. 
Let lords and ladies laugh and sing 

As loudly and as light ; 
We beggars, too, can dance, and fling 

Dull care a distant flight. 

806. 
Ruin seize thee, ruthless king. 



* The importance of clear and distinct utterance will be seen by the follow- 
ing sentences; in vvliich the meaning' depends upon it : 

That lasts till night. 

That last still night. 
Who ever imagined such a notion to exist ? 
Who ever imagined such an ocean to exist ? 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 155 

807. 

Around the hearth the crackling fagots blaze. 



Approach thou like the rugged Russian bear, 
The armed rhinoceros, the Hyrcan tiger. 

809. 
The master current of her mind 
Ran permanent and free. 

Round rugged rocks, rude ragged rascals ran. 
Lean liquid lays like lightly lulling lakes. 

After the pupil has sufficiently practised the utterance of the various 
sounds of vowels and consonants, both separately and in combination, 
it is recommended that he daily exercise himself in reading or speak 
ing with all his powers of loudness and force. This habit will cor. 
tribute much to the acquisition of strength of voice. But above all, 
let hirn remember that distinctness of articulation is ol the utmost im- 
portance in utterance ; and that a weak voice with this quality can 
be heard and understood at a much greater distance than a strong one 
without it. 

Again ; the pupil will find much benefit in the practice of swelling 
and diminishing the power of his voice. For this purpose, let him be- 
gin a long sentence softly, slowly, and in a low tone, and gradually 
swell his voice in pitch, power, and rapidity, till he has attained the 
utmost extent of those qualities of which it is susceptible; and then 
let it descend and fade away by degrees, till it becomes almost imper- 
ceptible. 

And, lastly, reading with rapidity (simply as an exercise of the voice) 
will contribute much to the ease and power of utterance. But the 
pupil must never allow his words to pass from his mouth indistinctly. 
How rapidly soever he may read, as an exercise, he must be careful 
to give each syllable and each letter its distinct appropriate sound. 

To these directions for the improvement of the voice may be added 
the caution to open the mouth, when speaking, in such a manner as to 
afford an easy passage for the sound. Many persons have contracted 
a habit of reading and speaking with the lips compressed in such a 
manner as entirely to alter the tone of the voice and destroy its dis- 
tinctness of utterance. This caution must be particularly regarded by 
all who aim at excellence in the Art of Rkading. 

Dr. Rush has described four different kinds of voice ; namely, the 
Naturai., the Falsette, the Whispering, and the Orotund, which 
he thus describes : 

The Natural voice is that which we employ in ordinary speaking. 

The Falsette is that peculiar voice in which the higher degrees 
of pitch are made, after the natural voice breaks, or outruns its pow^er. 
The cry, scream, yell, and all shrillness, are various modes of the 
falsette. 



156 



INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



The Whispering voice needs no description ; but it may be ob- 
served that some persons are endowed with such clearness and dis- 
tinctness in this kind of voice, that they can make themselves heard 
at a great distance when speaking in this way. 

By the Orotund voice is meant that natural or improved manner 
of uttering the elements, which exhibits thein with a fulness, clearness, 
strength, smoothness, and a ringing or musical quality, rarely heard in 
ordinary speech ; but which is never found in its highest excellence, ex- 
cept through long and careful cultivation. 

In conclusion, it may be stated, that all who aim at excellence as 
Readers and Speakers, should endeavor to attain this last-described 
quality of voice.* For their encouragement it may be added, that it 
has frequently been acquired by those whose voices were naturally 
weak and inejSective, and that no one, therefore, should despair of 
the attainment, — for what man has done, man can do. 



* Among the refinements in pronunciation, at whicii the careful student of 
the art of rlietorical reading- should aim, may be particularly mentioned the 
legitimate sounds of e and i, in such words as earth, mercy, yidrth, birth, &c., 
which are too commonly pronounced as if they were spell urth, murcy, murth, 
burth. In the word merit, the e always receives its proper sound. The same 
syllable mer, common both to the words merit and mercy, should have the 
same pronunciation in both words ; and the reader, by carefully noticing this 
fact, will find little difficulty in attaining the correct pronunciation of the e, in 
the words to which reference has been made. The proper sound of the i, like- 
wise, in the words above mentioned, approaches nearer to the sound of short e 
than to that of M. 



EXERCISES IN RHETORICAL READING. 



EXERCISE I. 

The Structure of Animals. 

Those who were skilful in anatomy among the ancients 
concluded, Irom the outward and inward make of a human 
body, that it was the work of a being transcendently wise 
and powerful. As the world grew more enlightened in 
5 this art, their discoveries gave them fresh opportunities of 
admiring the conduct of Providence in the formation of a 
human body. Galen was converted by his dissections, 
and could not but own a Supreme Being upon a survey of 
his handiwork. 

10 There were, indeed, many parts of which the old anato- 
mists did not know the certain use ; but as they saw that 
most of those which they examined were adapted with 
admirable art to their several functions, they did not ques- 
tion that those whose uses they could not determine were 

15 contrived with the same wisdom for respective ends and 
purposes. Since the circulation of the blood has been 
found out, and many other great discoveries have been 
made by our modern anatomists, we see new wonders in 
the human frame, and discern several important uses for 

20 those parts, which uses the ancients knew nothing of. 

In short, the body of man is such a subject as stands 
the utmost test of examination. Though it appears formed 
with the nicest wisdom .upon the most superficial survey 
of it, it still mends upon the search, and produces our sur- 

25 prise and amazement in proportion as we pry into it. 
What I have here said of a human body may be applied 
to the body of every animal which has been the subject 
of anatomical observations. 

The body of an animal is an object adequate to our 

30 senses. It is a particular system of Providence, that lies 
in a narrow compass. The eye is able to command it, 
and by successive inquiries can search into all its parts. 
14 



158 packer's exercises in [ex. i. 

Could the body of the whole earth, or indeed the whole 
universe, be thus submitted to the examination of our 
senses, were it not too big and disproportioned for our 
inquiries, too unwieldy for the management of the eye 
5 and hand, there is no question but it would appear to us 
as curious and well contrived a frame as that of a human 
body. We should see the same concatenation and subser- 
viency, the same necessity and usefulness, the same beauty 
and harmony in all and every of its parts, as what we 

10 discover in the body of every single animal. 

The more extended our reason is, and the more able to 
grapple with immense objects, the greater still are those 
discoveries which it makes of wisdom and providence in 
the works of the creation. A Sir Isaac Newton, who 

15 stands up as a miracle of the present age, can look through 
a whole planetary system ; consider it in its weight, num- 
ber and measure ; and draw from it as many demonstra- 
tions of infinite power and wisdom as a more confined 
understanding is able to deduce from the system of a 

20 human body. 

But to return to our speculative anatomy. I shall here 

* consider the fabric and texture of the body of animals in 
one particular view, which, in my opinion, shows the hand 
of a thinking and all-wise Being in their formation, with 

25 the evidence of a thousand demonstrations. I think we may 
lay this down as an incontested principle, that chance never 
acts in a perpetual uniformity and consistence with itself. 
If one should always fling the same number with ten 
thousand dice, or see every throw just five times less, or 

30 five times more in number than the throw which immedi- 
ately preceded it, who would not imagine there was some 
invisible power which directed the cast ? 

This is the proceeding which we find in the operations 
of nature. Every kind of animal is diversified by difler- 

35 ent magnitudes, each of which gives rise to a different 
species. Let a man trace the dog or lion kind, and he 
will observe how many of the works of nature are pub- 
lished, if I may use the expression, in a variety of editions. 
If we look into the reptile world, or into those diflferent 

40 kinds of animals that fill the element of water, we meet 
with the same repetitions among several species, that dif- 
fer very little from one another but in size and bulk. 
You find the same creature that is drawn at large copied 
out in several proportions, and ending in miniature. 



EX. I.] RHETORICAL READING 159 

It would be tedious to produce instances of this regular 
conduct in Providence, as it would be superfluous to those 
who are versed in the natural history of animals. The 
magnificent harmony of the universe is such that we may 
5 observe innumerable divisions running upon the same 
ground. I might also extend this speculation to the dead 
parts of nature, in which we may find matter disposed 
into many similar systems, as well in our survey of stars 
and planets, as of stones, vegetables, and other sublunary 

10 parts of the creation. 

In a word, Providence has shown the richness of its 
goodness and wisdom, not only in the production of 
many original species, but in the multiplicity of descants 
which it has made on every original species in particular. 

15 But to pursue this thought still further. Every living 

creature, considered in itself, has many very complicated 

parts, that are exact copies of some other parts which it 

possesses, which are complicated in the same manner. 

One eye would have been sufficient for the subsistence 

20 and preservation of an animal ; but in order to better his 
condition, we see another placed with a mathematical 
exactness in the same most advantageous situation, and in 
every particular of the same size and texture. Is it possi- 
ble for chance to be thus delicate and uniform in her oper- 

25 ations ? Should a million of dice turn up twice together 
the same number, the wonder would be nothing in com- 
parison with this. 

But when we see this similitude and resemblance in the 
arm, the hand, the fingers ; when we see one half of the 

30 body entirely correspond with the other in all those mi- 
nute strokes, without which a man might have very well 
subsisted ; nay, when we often see a single part repeated 
a hundred times in the same body, notwithstanding it 
consists of the most intricate weaving of numberless fibres, 

35 and these parts difiering still in magnitude, as the conven- 
ience of their particular situation requires ; sure a man 
must have a strange cast of understanding who does not 
discover the finger of God in so wonderful a work. 

These duplicates in those parts of the body, without 

40 which a man might have very well subsisted, though not 
so well as with them, are a plain demonstration of an all- 
wise Contriver ; as those more numerous copyings, which 
are found among the vessels of the same body, are evident 
demonstrations that they could not be the work of chance. 



160 Parker's exercises in [ex. n. 

This argument receives additional strength, if we apply 
it to every animal and insect within our knowledge, 
as well as to those numberless living creatures that are 
objects too minute for a human eye ; and if we consider 

5 how the several species in this whole world of life resem- 
ble one another, in very many particulars, so far as is con- 
venient for their respective states of existence, it is much 
more probable that a hundred million of dice should be 
casually thrown a hundred million of times in the same 

10 number, than that the body of any single animal should 
be produced by the fortuitous concourse of matter. And 
that the like chance should arise in innumerable instances, 
requires a degree of credulity that is not under the direc- 
tion of common sense. — Spectator. 



EXERCISE n. 
Philosophy. 

15 "With thee, serene Philosophy, with thee, 

And thy bright garland, let me crown my song! 
Tutored by thee, hence Poetry exalts 
Her voice to ages, and informs the page 
With music, image, sentiment and thought, 

20 Never to die ! the treasure of mankind ! 
Their highest honor, and their truest joy ! 

Without thee what were unenlightened man ? 
A savage roaming through the woods and wilds, 
In quest of prey ; and with the unfashioned fur 

25 Rough clad ; devoid of every finer art 
And elegance of life. 

Nor happiness 
Domestic, mixed of tenderness and care, 
Nor moral excellence, nor social bliss, 

30 Nor guardian law were his, — nor various skill 
To turn the furrow, or to guide the tool 
Mechanic ; nor the heaven-conducted prow 
Of navigation bold, that fearless braves 

35 The burning line, or dares the wintry pole, 
Mother severe of infinite delights ! 
Nothing, save rapine, indolence and guile, 
And woes on woes, a still revolving train ! 
Whose horrid circle had made human life 



EX. II.] RHETORICAL READING. 161 

Than non-existence worse ; but, taught by thee, 

Ours are the plans of policy and peace ; 

To live like brothers, and conjunctive all 

Embellish life. 
5 While thus laborious crowds 

Ply the tough oar, Philosophy directs 

The ruling helm ; or hke the liberal breath 

Of potent heaven, invisible, the sail 

Swells out, and bears the inferior world along. 
10 Nor to this evanescent speck of earth 

Poorly confined, the radiant tracks on high 

Are her exalted range ; intent to gaze 

Creation through ; and, from that full complex 

Of never-ending wonders, to conceive 
15 Of the Sole Being right, who spoke the word 

And Nature moved complete. 

With inward view, 

Thence on the ideal kingdom swift she turns 

Her eye ; and instant, at her powerful glance, 
20 The obedient phantoms vanish or appear ; 

Compound, divide, and into order shift, 

Each to his rank, from plain perception up 

To the fair forms of Fancy's fleeting train ; 

To reason, then, deducing truth from truth, 
25 And notion quite abstract ; where first begins 

The world of spirits, action all, and life 

Unfettered and unmixed. 

But here the cloud 

(So wills eternal Providence) sits deep ; 
30 Enough for us to know that this dark state, 

In wayward passions lost, and vain pursuits. 

This infancy of being, cannot prove 

The final issue of the works of God, 

By boundless love and perfect wisdom formed, 
35 And ever rising with the rising mind. Thomson. 



EXERCISE III. 

Scale of Beings. 

Though there is a great deal of pleasure in contemplat- 
ing the material world, — by which I mean that system of 
bodies into which nature has so curiously wrought the 
14# 



162 Parker's exercises in [ex. m. 

mass of dead matter, with the several relations that those 
bodies bear to one another, — there is still, methinks, some- 
thing more wonderful and surprising, in contemplations 
on the world of life; by which 1 understand, all those 

5 animals with which every part of the universe is fur- 
nished. The material world is only the shell of the uni- 
verse ; the world of life are its inhabitants. 

If we consider those parts of the material world which 
lie the nearest to us, and are therefore subject to our 

10 observations and inquiries, it is amazing to consider the 
infinity of animals with which they are stocked. Every 
part of matter is peopled ; every green leaf swarms with 
inhabitants. There is scarcely a single humor in the 
body of a man, or of any other animal, in which our 

15 glasses do not discover myriads of living creatures. 

We find even, in the most solid bodies, as in marble 
itself, innumerable cells and cavities, which are crowded 
with imperceptible inhabitants, too little for the naked eye 
to discover. On the other hand, if we look into the more 

20 bulky parts of nature, we see the seas, lakes, and rivers, 
teeming with numberless kinds of living creatures. We 
find every mountain and marsh, wilderness and wood, 
plentifully stocked with birds and beasts ; and every part 
of matter affording proper necessaries and conveniences 

25 for the livelihood of multitudes which inhabit it. 

The author of " The Plurality of Worlds " draws a 
very good argument from this consideration, for the peo- 
pling of every planet ; as indeed it seems very probable, 
from the analogy of reason, that if no part of matter, 

30 with which we are acquainted, lies waste and useless, 
those greater bodies, which are at such a distance from 
us, are not desert and unpeopled; but, rather, that they 
are furnished with beings adapted to their respective situ- 
ations. 

35 Existence is a blessing to those beings only which are 
endowed with perception ; and is in a manner thrown 
away upon dead matter, any further than as it is subser- 
vient to beings which are conscious of their existence-. 
Accordingly we find, from the bodies which lie under our 

40 observation, that matter is only made as the basis and 
support of animals, and that there is no more of the one 
than what is necessary for the existence of the other. 

Infinite Goodness is of so communicative a nature, that 
it seems to delight in conferring existence upon every de- 



EX. m.] RHETORICAL READING. 163 

gree of perceptive being. As this is a speculation, which 
I have often pursued with great pleasure to myself, I shall 
enlarge further upon it, by considering that part of the 
scale of beings which comes within our knowledge. 

5 There are some living creatures which are raised but 
just above dead matter. To mention only that species of 
shell-fish which is formed in the fashion of a cone, that 
grows to the surface of several rocks, and immediately 
dies on being severed from the place where it grew. 

10 There are many other creatures but one remove from 
these, which have no other sense than that of feeling and 
taste. Others have still an additional one of hearing ; 
others of smell ; and others of sight. 

It is wonderful to observe by what a gradual progress 

15 the world of life advances, through a prodigious variety 
of species, before a creature is formed that is complete in 
all its senses ; and even among these, there is such a dif- 
ferent degree of perfection, in the sense which one animal 
enjoys beyond what appears in another, that though the 

20 sense in different animals is distinguished by the same 
common denomination, it seems almost of a different 
nature. 

If, after this, we look into the several inward perfections 
of cunning and sagacity, or what we generally call instinct, 

25 we find them rising, after the same manner, imperceptibly 
one above another ; and receiving additional improve- 
ments, according to the species in which they are im- 
planted. This progress in nature is so very gradual, that 
the most perfect of an inferior species comes very near 

30 to the most imperfect of that which is immediately above it. 
The exuberant and overflowing goodness of the Su- 
preme Being, whose mercy extends to all his works, is 
plainly seen, as I have before hinted, in his having made 
so very little matter, at least what falls within our knowl- 

35 edge, that does not swarm with life. Nor is his goodness 
less seen in the diversity, than in the multitude of living 
creatures. Had he made but one species of animals, 
none of the rest would have enjoyed the happiness of 
existence ; he has, therefore, specified, in his creation, 

40 every degree of life, every capacity of being. 

The whole chasm of nature, from a plant to a man, is 
filled up with divers kinds of creatures, rising one after 
another, by an ascent so gentle and easy that the little 
transitions and deviations from one species to another are 



164 Parker's exercises in [ex. iv. 

almost insensible. This intermediate space is so well 
husbanded and managed, that there is scarcely a degree 
of perception which does not appear in some one part of 
the world of life. Is the goodness or the wisdom of the 

5 Divine Being more manifested in this his proceeding ? 

There is a consequence, besides those I have already- 
mentioned, which seems very naturally deducible from the 
foregoing considerations. If the scale of being rises by 
so regular a progress so high as man, we may, by parity 

10 of reason, suppose, that- it still proceeds gradually through 

those beings which are of a superior nature to him ; since 

there is infinitely greater space and room for different de- 

• grees of perfection, between the Supreme Being and man, 

than between man and the most despicable insect. 

15 In this great system of being, there is no creature so 
wonderful in its nature, and which so much deserves our 
particular attention, as man ; who fills up the middle 
space between the animal and the intellectual nature, the 
visible and the invisible world ; and who is that link in 

20 the chain of being which forms the connexion between 
both. So that he, who, in one respect, is associated with 
angels and archangels, and may look upon a being of in- 
finite perfection as his father, and the highest order of 
spirits as his brethren, may, in another respect, say to 

25 " corruption, thou art my father," and to the worm, " thou 
art my mother and my sister." — Addison. 



EXERCISE IV. 

The Teachings of Nature. 

The seasons came and went, and went and came, 
To teach men gratitude ; and, as they passed, 
Gave warning of the lapse of time, that else 

30 Had stolen unheeded by : the gentle flowers 
Retired, and, stooping o'er the wilderness, 
Talked of humility, and peace, and love. 
The dews came down unseen at evening tide, 
And silently their bounties shed, to teach 

35 Mankind unostentatious charity. 

With arm in arm the forest rose on high, 
And lesson gave of brotherly regard. 
And on the rugged mountain brow exposed, 



v.] RHETORICAL READING. 165 

Bearing the blast alone — the ancient oak 

Stood, lifting high his mighty arm, and still 

To courage in distress exhorted loud. 

The flocks, the herds, the birds, the streams, the breeze, 

Attuned the heart to melody and love. 

Mercy stood in the cloud, with eye that wept 
Essential love ; and, from her glorious bow, 
Bending to kiss the earth in token of peace, 
With her own lips, her gracious lips, which God 
Of sweetest accent made, she whispered still, 
She whispered to Revenge: — Forgive, forgive! 

The Sun, rejoicing round the earth, announced 
Daily the wisdom, power, and love of God. 
The Moon awoke, and from her maiden face 
Shedding her cloudy locks, looked meekly forth, 
And with her virgin stars walked in the heavens, 
Walked nightly there, conversing as she walked 
Of purity, and holiness, and God. 

In dreams and visions sleep instructed much. 
Day uttered speech to day, and night to night 
Taught knowledge : silence had a tongue : the grave, 
The darkness, and the lonely waste, had each 
A tongue, that ever said — Man ! think of God! 
Think of thyself! think of eternity! 

Fear God, the thunders said; fear God, the waves; 
Fear God, the lightning of the storm replied ; 
Fear God, deep loudly answered back to deep. 
And, in the temples of the Holy One — 
Messiah's messengers, the faithful few — 
Faithful 'mong many false — the Bible opened, 
And cried : Repent! repent, ye Sons of Men ! 
Believe, be saved. Pollock^ s Course of Time. 



EXERCISE V. 

English Politeness described by a Native of China. 

The English, in general, seem fonder of gaining the 
esteem than the love of those with whom they converse. 
35 This gives a formality to their amusements ; their gayest 
conversations have something too wise for innocent relaxa- 
tion ; though in company you are seldom disgusted with 
the absurdity of a fool, you are seldom lifted into rapture 



166 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [EX. VI. 

by those strokes of vivacity which give instant though not 
permanent pleasure. 

What they want, however, in gayety they make up in 
politeness. You smile at hearing me praise the English 

5 for their politeness ; you, who have heard very different 
accounts from the missionaries at Pekin, who have seen 
such a different behavior in their merchants and seamen at 
home. But I must still repeat it, the English seem more 
polite than any of their neighbors ; their great art in this 

10 respect lies in endeavoring, while they oblige, to lessen 
the force of the favor. Other countries are fond of oblig- 
ing a stranger, but seem desirous that he should be sensi- 
ble of the obligation. The English confer their kindness 
with an appearance of indifference, and give away benefits 

15 with an air as if they despised them. 

Walking, a few days ago, between an Englishman and 
a Frenchman, into the suburbs of the city, we were over- 
taken by a heavy shower of rain. I was unprepared, but 
they had each large coats, which defended them from 

20 what seemed to me a perfect inundation. The English- 
man, seeing me shrink from the weather, accosted me 
thus : " Psha, man, what dost shrink at ? Here, take this 
coat ; I don't want it ; I find it no way useful to me ; I 
had as lief be without it." 

25 The Frenchman began to show his politeness in turn. 
" My dear friend," cries he, " why won't you oblige me 
by making use of my coat ? you see how well it defends 
me from the rain. I should not choose to part with it to 
others, but to such a friend as you I could even part with _ 

30 my skin to do him service." ■ 

From such minute instances as these, most reverend* 
Fum Hoam, I am sensible your sagacity will collect in- 
struction. The volume of nature is the book of knowl- 
edge ; and he becomes most wise who makes the most 

35 judicious selection. — Goldsmith. 



EXERCISE VI. 

Pleasures of Melancholy. 

Let others love soft summer's evening smiles, 
As, listening to the distant waterfall. 
They mark the blushes of the streaky west ; 
I choose the pale December's foggy glooms. 



EX. VnJ RHETORICAL READING. 167 

Then, when the sullen shades of evening close, 
Where through the room the blindly-glimmering gleam 
The dying embers scatter, far remote 
From Mirth's mad shouts, that through the illumined roof 

5 Resound with festive echo, let me sit, 

Blest with the lowly cricket's drowsy dirge, 
Then let my thought contemplative explore 
This fleeting state of things, the vain delights, 
The fruitless toils, that still our search elude, 

10 As through the wilderness of life we rove. 
This sober hour of silence will unmask 
False Folly's smiles, that, like the dazzling spells 
Of wily Comus, cheat the unweeting eye 
With blear illusion, and persuade to drink 

15 That charmed cup, which Reason's mintage fair 
Unmoulds, and stamps the monster on the man. 
Eager we taste, but in the luscious draught 
Forget the poisonous dregs that lurk beneath. 
Few know that elegance of soul refined 

20 Whose soft sensation feels a quicker joy 

From Melancholy's scenes than the dull pride 
Of tasteless splendor and magnificence 
Can e'er afford. 

Thus* Eloise, whose mind 

25 Had languished to the pangs of melting love, 
More genuine transport found, as on some tomb 
Reclined she watched the tapers of the dead ; 
Or through the pillared isles, amid pale shrines 
Of imaged saints and intermingled graves, 

30 Mused a veiled A^otaress ; than Flavia feels, 
As through the mazes of the festive ball, 
Proud of her conquering charms and beauty's blaze, 
She floats amid the silken sons of dress. 
And shines the fairest of the assembled fair. 

T. Warton. 



EXERCISE VII. 

The Amiable Character of the Patriarch Joseph. 

35 No human character exhibited in the records of Scrip- 
ture is more remarkable and instructive than that of the 
patriarch Joseph. He is one whom we behold tried in all 
the vicissitudes of fortune ; from the condition of a slave, 



168 Parker's exercises in [ex. vii. 

rising to be ruler of the land of Egypt ; and in every sta- 
tion acquiring, by his virtue and wisdom, favor with God 
and man. When overseer of Potiphar's house, his fidelity 
was proved by strong temptations, which he honorably 

5 resisted. 

When thrown into prison by the artifices of a false 
woman, his integrity and prudence soon rendered him 
conspicuous, even in that dark mansion. When called 
into the presence of Pharaoh, the wise and extensive plan 

10 which he formed for saving the kingdom from the miseries 
of impending famine, justly raised him to a high station, 
wherein his abilities were eminently displayed in the pub- 
lic service. 

But in his whole history there is no circumstance so 

15 striking and interesting as his behavior to his brethren 
who had sold him into slavery. The moment in which 
he made himself known to them was the most critical 
one of his life, and the most decisive of his character. It 
is such as rarely occurs in the course of human events, 

20 and is calculated to draw the highest attention of all who 
are endowed with any degree of sensibility of heart. 

From the whole tenor of the narration, it appears, that 
though Joseph, upon the arrival of his brethren in Egypt, 
made himself strange to them, yet, from the beginning, he 

25 intended to discover himself; and studied so to conduct 
the discovery as might render the surprise of joy com- 
plete. For this end, by affected severity, he took measures 
for bringing down into Egypt all his father's children. 
They were now arrived there ; and Benjamin among 

30 the rest, who was his younger brother by the same mother, 
and was particularly beloved by Joseph. Him he threat- 
ened to detain ; and seemed willing to allow the rest to 
depart. This incident renev/ed their distress. They all 
knew their father's extreme anxiety about the safety of 

35 Benjamin, and with what difficulty he had yielded to his 
undertaking this journey. 

Should he be prevented from returning, they dreaded 
that grief would overpower the old man's spirits, and prove 
fatal to his life. Judah, therefore, who had particularly 

40 urged the necessity of Benjamin's accompanying his broth- 
ers, and had solemnly pledged himself to their father for 
his safe return, craved, upon this occasion, an audience of 
the governor, and gave him a full account of the circum- 
stances of Jacob's family. 



EX. VII.] RHETORICAL READLVG. 169 

Nothing can be more interesting and patlieiic than this 
discourse of Judah. Little knowing to whom he spoke, 
he paints, in all the colors of simple and natural eloquence, 
the distressed situation of the aged patriarch, hastening to 

5 the close of life ; long afflicted for the loss of a favorite 
son, whom he supposed to have been torn in pieces by a 
beast of prey; laboring now under anxious concern about 
his youngest son, the child of his old age, who alone was 
left alive of his mother, and whom nothing but the calam- 

JO ities of severe famine could have moved a tender father to 
send from home, and expose to the dangers of a foreign 
land. 

" If we bring him not back with us, we shall bring down 
the gray hairs of thy servant, our father, \vith sorrow to 

J 5 the grave. I pray thee therefore let thy servant abide, 

instead of the young man, a bondman to our lord. For 

how shall 1 go up to my father, and Benjamin not with 

me ? lest I see the evil that shall come on my father." 

Upon this relation, Joseph could no longer restrain him- 

20 self. The tender ideas of his father, and his father's 
house, of his ancient home, his country, and his kindred, 
of the distress of his family, and his own exaltation, all 
rushed too strongly upon his mind to bear any further con- 
cealment. " He cried, Cause every man to go out from 

25 me ; and he wept aloud." 

The tears which he shed were not the tears of grief. 
They were the burst of affection. They were the' effu- 
sions of a heart overflowing with all the tender sensibili- 
ties of nature. Formerly he had been moved in the same 

30 manner when he first saw" his brethren before him. " His 
bov/els yearned upon them ; he sought for a place where 
to weep. He went into his chamber; and then washed 
his face and returned to them." 

At that period, his generous plans were not completed. 

35 But now, when there was no further occasion for constrain- 
ing himself, he gave free vent to the strong emotions of 
his heart. The first minister to the king of Egypt was 
not ashamed to show that he felt as a man and a brother. 
" He wept aloud ; and the Egyptians and the house of 

40 Pharaoh heard him." 

The first words which his swelling heart allowed him 

to pronounce are the most suitable to such an affecting 

situation that were ever uttered : — "I am Joseph ; doth 

my father yet live ? " What could he, what ought he, in 

Id 



170 Parker's exercises in [ex. vin. 

that impassioned moment, to have said more ? This is 
the voice of nature herself, speaking her own language ; 
and it penetrates the heart : no pomp of expression ; no 
parade of kindness ; but strong affection hastening to utter 

5 what it strongly felt. " His brethren could not answer 
him ; for they were troubled at his presence." Their si- 
lence is as expressive of those emotions of repentance and 
shame, which on this amazing discovery jfiilled their breasts 
and stopped their utterance, as the few words which Jo- 

10 seph speaks are expressive of the generous agitations 
which struggled for vent within him. 

No painter could seize a more striking moment for dis- 
playing the characteristical features of the human heart 
than what is here presented. Never was there a situation 

15 of more tender and virtuous joy, on the one hand, nor, on 
the other, of more overwhelming confusion and conscious 
guilt. In the simple narration of the sacred historian, it 
is set before us with greater energy and higher effect than 
if it had been wrought up with all the coloring of the 

20 most admired modern eloquence. — Blair. 



EXERCISE VIII. 

The Rainbow. 

The evening was glorious, and light through the trees 
Played in sunshine, the rain-drops, the birds, and the breeze; 
The landscape, outstretching, in loveliness lay 
On the lap of the year, in the beauty of May. 

25 For the bright queen of spring, as she passed down the 
vale. 
Left her robe on the trees, and her breath on the gale ; 
And the smile of her promise gave joy to the hours, 
And fresh in her footsteps sprang herbage and flowers. 

30 The skies, like a banner in sunset unrolled. 

O'er the west threw their splendor of azure and gold ; 
But one cloud at a distance rose dense, and increased, 
'Till its margin of black touched the zenith and east. 
We gazed on these scenes, while around us they glowed, 

35 When a vision of beauty appeared on the cloud ; 
'T was not like the sun, as at mid-day we view, 
Nor the moon, that rolls lightly through starlight and blue. 



EX. Vm.] RHETORICAL READING. 171 

Like a spirit it came in the van of a storm, 
And the eye and the heart hailed its beautiful form; 
For it looked not severe, like an angel of wrath, 
But its garments of brightness illumed its dark path. 
5 In the hues of its grandeur sublimely it stood, 
O'er the river, the village, the field, and the wood; 
And river, field, village, and woodland grew bright, 
As conscious they felt and afforded delight. 

'T was the bow of Omnipotence, bent in his hand 
10 Whose grasp at creation the universe spanned ; 
'T was the presence of God, in a symbol sublime, 
His vow from the flood to the exit of time ; 

Not dreadful as when in a whirlwind he pleads, 
When storms are his chariot, and lightning his steeds ; 
15 The black cloud of vengeance his banner unfurled, 
And thunder his voice to a guilt-stricken world ; 

In the breath of his presence when thousands expire, 
And seas boil with fury, and rocks burn with fire. 
And the sword and the plague-spot with death strew the 
20 plain, 

And vultures and wolves are the graves of the slain. 

Not such was that rainbow, that beautiful one ! 
Whose arch was refraction, its key-stone — the sun ; 
A pavilion it seemed, with a deity graced, 
25 And justice and mercy met there and embraced. 
A while, and it sweetly bent over the gloom. 
Like love o'er a death-couch, or hope o'er the tomb; 
Then left the dark scene, whence it slowly retired, 
As love had just vanished, or hope had expired. 
30 I gazed not alone on that source of my song, 
To all who beheld it these verses belong ; 
Its presence to all was the path of the Lord ! 
Each full heart expanded, grew warm and adored. 
Like a visit, the converse of friends, or a day, 
35 That bow from my sight passed forever away; 

Like that visit, that converse, that day, to my heart, 
That bow from remembrance can never depart. 
'T is a picture in memory, distinctly defined, 
With the strong and im perishing colors of mind : 
40 A part of my being beyond my control. 

Beheld on that cjoud, and transcribed on my soul. 

Campbell. 



172 Parker's exercises in [ex. a. 

EXERCISE IX. 

On the Immortality of the Saul. 

I WAS yesterday walking alone, in one of my friends' 
woods, and lost myself in it very agreeably, as I was run- 
ning over, in my mind, the several arguments that estab- 
lish this great point, — which is the basis of morality, and 

5 the source of all the pleasing hopes and secret joys, that 
can arise in the heart of a reasonable creature ? I consid- 
ered those several proofs drawn, 

First, from the nature of the soul itself, and particularly 
its immateriality ; which, though not absolutely necessary 

10 to the eternity of its duration, has, 1 think, been evinced 
to almost a demonstration. 

Secondly, from its passions and sentiments ; as, particu- 
larly, from its love of existence, its horror of annihilation, 
and its hopes of immortality ; with that secret satisfaction 

15 which it finds in the practice of virtue, and that uneasi- 
ness which follows upon the commission of vice. 

Thirdly, from the nature of the Supreme Being, whose 
justice, goodness, wisdom, and veracity, are all concerned 
in this point. 

20 But among these, and other excellent arguments for 
the immortality of the soul, there is one drawn from the 
perpetual progress of the soul to its perfection, without a 
possibility of ever arriving at it ; which is a hint that I do 
not remember to have seen opened and improved by others 

25 who have written on this subject, though it seems to me 
to carry a very great weight with it. 

How can it enter into the thoughts of man, that the 
soul, which is capable of immense perfections, and of re- 
ceiving new improvements to all eternity, shall fall away 

30 into no-hing almost as soon as it is created? Are such 
abilities made for no purpose ? A brute arrives at a point 
of perfection that he can never pass ; in a few years he 
has all the endowments he is capable of ; and were he to 
live ten thousand more, would be the same thing he is at 

35 present. 

Were a human soul thus at a stand in her accomplish- 
ments, — were her faculties to be full blown, and incapable 
of further enlargements, — I could imagine she might fall 
away insensibly, and drop at once into a state of annihila- 

40 tion. But can we believe a thinking being, that is in a 
perpetual progress of improvement, and travelling on from 



EX. IX.J RHETORICAL READING. 173 

perfection to perfection, after having just looked abroad 
into the works of her Creator, and made a few discoveries 
of his infinite goodness, wisdom, and power, must perish 
at her first setting out, and in the very beginning of her 

5 inquiries ? 

Man, considered only in his present state, seems sent 
into the world merely to propagate his kind. He provides 
himself with a siAcessor, and immediately quits his post 
to make room for him. He does not seem born to enjoy 

10 life, but to deliver it down to others. This is not surpris- 
ing to consider in animals, which are formed for our use, 
and which can finish their business in a short life. 

The silk-worm, after having spun her task, lays her 
eggs and dies. But a man cannot take in his full meas- 

15 ure of knowledge, has not time to subdue his passions, 
establish his soul in virtue, and come to the perfection of 
his nature, before he is hurried off the stage. Would an 
infinitely wise Being make such glorious creatures for so 
mean a purpose? Can he delight in the production of 

20 such abortive intelligences, such short-lived reasonable be- 
ings ? Would he give us talents that are not to be exert- 
ed ? capacities that are never to be gratified ? 

How can we find that wisdom which shines through all 
his works, in the formation of man, without looking on 

25 this world as only a nursery for the next ; and without 
believing that the several generations of rational creatures, 
which rise up and disappear in such quick successions, 
are only to receive their first rudiments of existence here, 
and afterwards to be transplanted into a more friendly 

30 climate, where they may spread and flourish to all eternity ? 
There is not, in my opinion, a more pleasing and tri- 
umphant consideration in religion, than this of the perpet- 
ual progress which the soul makes towards the perfection 
of its nature, without ever arriving at a period in it. To 

35 look upon the soul as going on from strength to strength ; 
to consider that she is to shine forever with new accessions 
of glory, and brighten to all eternity ; that she will be 
still adding virtue to virtue, and knowledge to knowledge ; 
carries in it something wonderfully agreeable to that am- 

40 bition which is natural to the mind of man. Nay, it 
must be a prospect pleasing to God himself, to see his cre- 
ation forever beautifying in his eyes, and drawing nearer 
to him, by greater degrees of resemblance. 

Methinks this single consideration of the progress of a 
15# 



174 Parker's exercises in [ex. x. 

finite spirit to perfection will be sufficient to extinguish all 
envy in inferior natures, and all contempt in superior. 
That cherub, which now appears as a god to a human 
soul, knows very well that the period will come about in 

5 eternity when the human soul shall be as perfect as he 

himself now is ; nay, when she shall look down upon that 

degree of perfection as much as she now falls short of it. 

It is true, the higher nature still advances, and by that 

means preserves his distance and superiority in the scale 

10 of being ; yet he knows that, how high soever the station 
is of which he stands possessed at present, the inferior 
nature will, at length, mount up to it, and shine forth in 
the same degree of glory. 

With what astonishment and veneration may we look 

15 into our ow^n souls, where there are such hidden stores of 
virtue and knowledge, such inexhausted sources of perfec- 
tion ! We know not yet what we shall be ; nor will it ever 
enter into the heart of man to conceive the glory that will 
be always in reserve for him. 

20 The soul, considered with its Creator, is like one of 
those mathematical lines that may draw nearer to another 
for all eternity, without a possibility of touching it : and 
can there be a thought so transporting, as to consider our- 
selves in these perpetual approaches to Him who is the 

25 standard not only of perfection, but of happiness ! 

Addison. 



EXERCISE X. 

Winter. 

'T IS done ! dread Winter spreads his latest glooms, 
And reigns tremendous o'er the conquered year. 
How dead the vegetable kingdom lies ! 
How dumb the tuneful ! horror wide extends 
30 His desolate domain. 

Behold, fond man ! 
See here thy pictured life ; pass some few years, — 
Thy flowering spring, thy summer's ardent strength, 
Thy sober autumn fading into age, — 
35 And pale concluding winter comes at last, 
And shuts the scene. 

Ah ! whither now are fled 
Those dreams of greatness ? those unsolid hopes 



EX. XI.] RHETORICAL READING. 175 

Of happiness ? those longings after fame ? 

Those restless cares ? those busy, bustling days ? 

Those gay-spent, festive nights ? those veering thoughts, 

Lost between good and ill, that shared thy life ? 
5 All are now vanished ! Virtue sole survives, 

Immortal, never-failing friend of man, 
. His guide to happiness on high. And see ! 

'T is come, the glorious morn ! the second birth 

Of heaven and earth ! awakening nature hears 
10 The new-creating word, and starts to life, 

In every heightened form, from pain and death 

Forever free. 

The great eternal scheme. 

Involving all, and in a perfect whole 
15 Uniting, as. the prospect wider spreads. 

To Reason's eye refined clears up apace. 

Ye vainly wise ! ye blind presumptuous ! now, 

Confounded in the dust, adore that Power 

And Wisdom oft arraigned : see now the cause 
20 Why unassuming worth in secret lived. 

And died neglected : why the good man's share 

In life was gall and bitterness of soul : 

Why the lone widow and her orphans pined 

In starving solitude; while Luxury, 
25 In palaces, lay straining her low thought 

To form unreal wants : why heaven-born truth. 

And moderation fair, wore the red marks 

Of superstition's scourge : why licensed pain, 

That cruel spoiler, that embosomed foe, 
30 Embittered all our bliss. Ye good distressed ! 

Ye noble few ! who here unbending stand 

Beneath life's pressure, yet bear up a while. 

And what your bounded view, which only saw 

A little part, deemed evil, is no more : 
35 The storms of wintry time will quickly pass, 

And one unbounded spring encircle all. Thomson. 



EXERCISE XI. 

Sabbath Exercises. 

Many Christians who feel deeply the importance of 
spending the Sabbath in a proper manner, find, notwith- 



176 Parker's exercises in [ex. xi. 

standing' all their endeavors, that the sacred hours do at 
times pass heavily along. Now the Sabbath should be 
not only the Christian's most profitable, but most happy 
day. I once knew a young Christian who resolved that 

5 he would pass the w^hole day in prayer ; but ver}^ soon he 
became exhausted and weary. He, however, persevered 
through the whole day, with the exception of a few neces- 
sary interruptions; and when night came, he felt a dead- 
ness and exhaustion of feeling which he unhappily mis- 

10 took for spiritual desertion. No human mind can, in 
ordinary cases, sustain such long and intense application 
to one subject ; there must be variety, to give cheerfulness 
and to invigorate. Often a conscientious young Christian 
takes his Bible, resolving to spend the Sabbath in reading 

15 the Bible and in prayer. He perhaps passes an hour or 
two in this way very pleasantly, and then he feels tired ; 
he tries to rouse his feelings, and bitterly condemns him- 
self for unavoidable languor. I have known persons to be 
greatly disquieted and distrustful of their Christian char- 

20 acter, because they could not pass the whole of the Sab- 
bath pleasantly in uninterrupted reading of the Bible or in 
continual prayer. 

There is a wide difference between spiritual desertion 
and mental exhaustion. To avoid this mental exhaustion, 

25 and to keep the spirits animated and cheerful, much vari- 
ety of pursuit is necessary. Who would be willing to go 
to church, and have the whole time occupied with a ser- 
mon, or a prayer, or a hymn ? How few are there who 
can, with pleasure and profit, listen to a sermon of one 

30 hour's length ! There must be a diversity of exercises to 
make public worship agreeable, and there must be diver- 
sity to give pleasure to private devotion. 

Let the sacred hours of the Sabbath, then, be appropri- 
ated to a variety of religious employments. Suppose the 

85 case of a young married man. He wishes to pass the 
Sabbath in a way acceptable to God, and to enjoy his 
religious duties. He rises in good season in the morning, 
and commences the day with a short but fervent prayer 
for the divine blessing ; he then passes the time till break- 

40 fast in reading the Bible. Perhaps, for the sake of variety, 
he spends a part of the time in reading the devotional 
portions, and a part in perusing its interesting history. At 
the breakfast-table, with cheerful countenance and heart, 
he leads the conversation to religious subjects ; after break- 



EX. XI.] RHETORICAL READK\G. 177 

fast he passes an hour in reading some valuable religious 
book. Books are so numerous now, that the best practical 
works upon Christianity are easily obtained by all. Bun- 
yan's Pilgrim's Progress, Baxter's Saint's Best, Law's 

5 Serious Call, Doddridge's Rise and Progress, Imitation of 
Christ, &c., are works of standard merit, and works with 
which all Christians may and should be acquainted. It 
is very desirable that the Christian should have on hand 
some such book, which he will read in course, taking a 

10 moderate portion every day, until he has finished it. 

At length the time arrives for the assembling of his 
family for morning prayers. He carries his principle, for 
securing an interesting variety, here. Sometimes he will 
read religious intelligence from a periodical; sometimes 

15 he reads an interesting narrative from a tract; always 
taking care to select something which will excite attention. 
After finishing this, he opens the Bible and selects some 
appropriate passage and reads it, with occasional remarks, 
intended to deepen the impression upon his own mind, and 

20 upon the minds of those in the circle around him. He 
then reads a hymn, and after singing a few verses, if the 
family are able to sing, bows at the family altar in prayer. 
The variety which he has thus introduced into the exercise 
has continued to interest the feelings, and no occasion has 

25 been offered for lassitude or tedium. 

He now walks the room for exercise, and reviews the 
past week ; he thinks of the opportunities to do good which 
he has neglected, examines his feelings and his conduct, 
and in ejaculatory prayer seeks forgiveness. When he 

30 enters the place of public worship, his mind is ready for 
active service there — he unites with his pastor in prayer. 
When a hymn is read, he attends to the sentiment, and 
makes melody in heart, to God when singing his praises. 
He listens attentively to the sermon, feeling that the re- 

35 sponsibility of being interested in it comes upon him, and 
he prays that God will bless it to his own soul, and to the 
conversion of others. 

Perhaps, in the interval between forenoon and after- 
noon service, he has a class in the Sabbath -school, or is 

40 himself a member of the Bible class : these duties he per- 
forms with a sincere desire to do good. After the close 
of the afternoon services, he retires for secret prayer. He 
appropriates a proper period to this duty, and presents his 
own private and personal wants, and the spiritual interests 



178 Parker's exercises in [ex. xn. 

of others, in minute detail, to God;— he looks forward, too, 
to the duties of the week ; he brings before his mind the 
temptations to which he will be exposed, the opportunities 
for exerting a Christian influence which he possesses, and 

5 forms his plans of Christian usefulness for the week ; he 
thinks of some good object which he will try to advance, 
of some individual whom he will try to lead to the Saviour. 
He forms his resolutions, and perhaps writes them down, 
that he may refer to them again the next Sabbath, in the 

10 review of the week. At the appointed hour he assembles 
his family for evening prayers. A brief reference to the 
religious exercises of the day, or some interesting narra- 
tive, followed by the Bible, singing and prayer, again give 
variety and animation to the exercise ; and when all the 

15 duties of the day are over, as he is retiring to rest, he 
passes the few moments which remain before slumber has 
wrapt his senses in forge tfulness in reviewing the duties 
of the day. The Sabbath has been profitably and happily 
spent. It has been to him a rich season of improvement 

20 and of enjoyment. He has made a Sabbath day's journey 
toward heaven ; he has obtained strength to meet the 
allurements and temptations of life. During the week he 
looks back upon the Sabbath with pleasure, and when the 
light of another holy morning dawns upon him, he can 

25 sincerely say, 

" Welcome, delightful morn, 
Thou day of sacred rest ; 
I hail thy kind return — 

Lord, make these moments blest." 

Abbotfs Young Christian. 



EXERCISE XII. 

The Deserted Village. 

30 Sweet Auburn ! loveliest village of the plain. 

Where health and plenty cheered the laboring swain, 
Where smiling spring its earliest visit paid. 
And parting summer's lingering blooms delayed ; 
Dear, lovely bowers of innocence and ease, 

35 Seats of my youth, when every sport could please, 
How often have I loitered o'er thy green. 
Where humble happiness endeared each scene ! 
How often have I paused on every charm, — 
The sheltered cot, the cultivated farm, 



EX. Xn.] RHETORICAL READING. 179 

The never-failing brook, the busy mill, 

The decent church that topped the neighboring hill, 

The hawthorn bush, with seats beneath the shade, 

For talking age and w^hispering lovers made ! 
6 How often have I blessed the coming day, 

When toil remitting lent its aid to play. 

And all the village train, from labor free. 

Led up their sports beneath the spreading tree ! 

While many a pastime circled in the shade, 
10 The young contending as the old surveyed ; 

And many a gambol frolicked o'er the ground. 

And sleights of art and feats of strength went round. 
And still, as each repeated pleasure tired. 

Succeeding sports the mirthful band inspired : 
15 The dancing pair, that simply sought renown 

By holding out to tire each other down ; 

The swain, mistrustless of his smutted face. 

While secret laughter tittered round the place ; 

The bashful virgin's sidelong looks of love, 
20 The matron's glance that would those looks reprove : 

These were thy charms, sweet village ! sports like these, 

With sweet succession, taught e'en toil to please ; 

These round thy bowers their cheerful influence shed, 

These were thy charms — but all these charms are fled. 
25 Sweet, smiling village, loveliest of the la^vn, 

Thy sports are fled, and all thy charms withdrawn ; 

Amid thy bowers the tyrant's hand is seen, 

And desolation saddens all thy green ; 

One onl}' master grasps the ^vhole domain, 
30 And half a tillage tints thy smiling- plain. 

No more thy glassy brook reflects the day, 

But, choked with sedges, works its weedy way ; 

Along thy glades, a solitary' guest, 

The hollow-sounding bittern guards its nest ; 
35 Amid thy desert walks the lapwing flies, 

And tires their echoes with unvaried cries. 
Sunk are thy bowers in shapeless ruin all. 

And the long grass o'ertops the mouldering wall ; 

And, trembling, shrinking from the spoiler's hand, 
40 Far, far away thy children leave the land. 
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey, 

Where wealth accumulates, and men decay ; 

Princes and lords may flourish or may fade ; 

A breath can make them, as a breath has made : 



180 Parker's exercises in [ex. xii. 

But a bold peasantry, their country's pride, 

When once destroyed can never be supplied. 
A time there was, ere England's griefs began. 

When every rood of ground maintained its man ; 
5 For him light labor spread her wholesome store, 

Just gave what life required, but gave no more ; 

His best companions, innocence and health ; 

And his best riches, ignorance of wealth. 

But times are altered ; trade's unfeeling train 
10 Usurp the land, and dispossess the swain ; 

Along the lawn, where scattered hamlets rose, 

Unwieldly wealth and cumbrous pomp repose ; 

And every want to luxury allied, 

And ever}^ paug" that folly pays to pride. 
15 Those gentle hours that plenty bade to bloom, 

Those calm desires that asked but little room. 

Those healthful sports that graced the peaceful scene, 

Lived in each look, and brightened all the green, — 

These, far departing, seek a kinder shore, 
20 And rural mirth and manners are no more. 

Sweet Auburn! parent of the blissful hour, 

Thy glades forlorn confess the tyrant's power. 

Here, as I take my solitary rounds, 

Amid thy tangling walks and ruined grounds, 
25 And, many a year elapsed, return to view 

Where once the cottage stood, the hawthorn grew, 

Kemembrance wakes with all her busy train, 

Swells at my breast, and turns the past to pain. 
In all my wanderings round this world of care, 
30 In all my griefs — and God has given my share — 

I still had hopes, my latest hours to crown. 

Amid these humble bowers to lay me down ; 

To husband out life's taper at the close. 

And keep the flame from wasting by repose ; 
35 I still had hopes, — for pride attends us still, — 

Amid the swains to show my book-learned skill, 

Around my fire an evening group to draw. 

And tell of all I felt and all I saw ; 

And as a hare, whom hounds and horns pursue, 
40 Pants to the place from whence at first she flew, 

I still had hopes, my long vexations past. 

Here to return — and die at home at last. 

Oh blessed retirement ! friend to life's decline. 

Retreat from care, that never must be mine, 



EX. XII.] RHETORICAL READING. 181 

How blessed is he who crowns, in shades like these, 

A youth of labor with an age of ease ; 

Who quits a world where strong temptations try, 

And, since 't is hard to combat, learns to fly ! 
5 For him no wretches, born to work and weep. 

Explore the mine, or tempt the dangerous deep ; 

Nor surly porter stands, in guilty state. 

To spurn imploring famine from the gate; 

But on he moves to meet his latter end, 
10 Angels around befriending virtue's friend ; 

Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, 

While resignation gently slopes the way ; 

And all his prospects brightening to the last, 

His heaven commences ere the world be past. 
15 Sweet was the sound, when oft, at evening's close, 

Up yonder hill the village murmur rose ; 

There, as I passed with careless steps and slow. 

The mingling notes came softened from below; 

The swain responsive as the milkmaid sung, 
20 The sober herd that lowed to meet their young; 

The noisy geese that gabbled o'er the pool, 

The playful children just let loose from school; 

The watch-dog's voice that bayed the whispering wind, 

And the loud laugh that spoke the vacant mind; 
25 These all in sweet confusion sought the shade. 

And filled each pause the nightingale had made. 
But now the sounds of population fail, 

No cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale. 

No busy steps the grass-grown footway tread, 
30 But all the blooming flush of life is fled : 

All but yon widowed, solitary thing, 

That feebly bends beside the plashy spring : 

She, wretched matron, forced in age, for bread. 

To strip the brook with mantling cresses spread, 
35 To pick her wintry fagot from the thorn. 

To seek her nightly shed, and weep till morn : 

She only left of all the harmless train. 

The sad historian of the pensive plain. 

Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, 
40 And stifl where many a garden flower grows wild, 

There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose. 

The village preacher's modest mansion rose. 
A man he was to all the country dear, 

And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; 
16 



182 Parker's exercises in [ex. xr 

Remote from towns he ran his godly race, 

Nor e'er had changed, nor wished to change, his place : 

Unskilful he to fawn or seek for power, 

By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour ; 
5 Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, 

More bent to raise the wretched than to riSe. 
His house was known to all the vagrant train : 

He chid their wanderings, but relieved their pain ; 

The long-remembered beggar was his guest, 
10 Whose beard, descending, swept his aged breast ; 

The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, 

Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed. 
The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay. 

Sat by his fire, and talked the night away, 
15 Wept o'er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done. 

Shouldered his cru^;ch, and showed how fields were won. 

Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, 

And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; 

Careless their merits or their faults to scan, 
20 His pity gave ere charity began. 

Thus, to relieve the wretched was his pride, 

And even his failings leaned to virtue's side; 

But in his duty prompt at every call, 

He watched and wept, he prayed and felt, for all. 
25 And, as a bird each fond endearment tries 

To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, 

He tried each art, reproved each dull delay. 

Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. 
Beside the bed where parting life was laid, 
30 And sorrow, guilt, and pain by turns dismayed,- 

The reverend champion stood. At his control. 

Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; 

Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, 

And his last faltering accents whispered praise. 
35 At church, with meek and unaffected grace. 

His looks adorned the venerable place ; 

Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, 

And fools, who came to scoff, remained to pray. 

The service past, around the pious man, 
40 With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; 

Even children followed with endearing wile. 

And plucked his gown to share the good man's smile. 
His ready smile a parent's warmth expressed; 

Their welfare pleased him, and their cares distressed : 



EX. XII.] RHETORICAL READING. 183 

To them his heart, his love, his griefs, were given, 
But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. 
As some tall cliff, that lifts its awful form, 
Swells from the vale, and midway leaves the storm, 

5 Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. 
Eternal sunshine settles on its head. 

Beside yon straggling fence that skirts the way, 
With blossomed furze unprofitably gay, 
There, in his noisy mansion, skilled to rule, 

10 The village master taught his little school : 
A man severe he was, and stern to view ; 
I knew him well, and every truant knew ; 
Well had the boding tremblers learned to trace 
The day's disasters in his morning face ; 

15 Full well they laughed and counterfeited glee 
At all his jokes, for many a joke had he ; 
Full well the busy whisper, circling round. 
Conveyed the dismal tidings when he frowned. 
Yet he was kind, or, if severe in aught, 

20 The love he bore to learning was in fault ; 

The village all declared how much he knew — 
'Twas certain he could write, and cipher too; 
Lands he could measure, terms and tides presage. 
And e'en the story ran that he could gauge. 

25 In arguing, too, the parson owned his skill, 
For e'en though vanquished, he could argue still; 
While words of learned length and thundering sound 
Amazed the gazing rustics ranged around ; 
And still they gazed, and still the wonder grew, 

30 That one small head could carry all he knew. 
But past is all his fame. The very spot 
Where many a time he triumphed is forgot. 

Near yonder thorn, that lifts its head on high, 
Where once the sign-post caught the passing eye, 

35 Low lies that house where nut-brown draughts inspired, 
Where graybeard mirth and smiling toil retired, 
Where village statesmen talked with looks profound, 
And news much older than their ale went round. 
Imagination fondly stops to trace 

40 The parlor splendors of that festive place ; 

The whitewashed wall, the nicely-sanded floor,^ 
The varnished clock that clicked behind the door : 

* A most beautiful instance of onoma^qpceta, or sound adapted to the sense. 



184 Parker's exercises in [ex. xn. 

The chest contrived a double debt to pay, 

A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day ; 

The pictures placed for ornament and use, 

The twelve good rules, the royal game of goose ; 
5 The hearth, except when winter chilled the day, 

With aspen boughs, and flowers and fennel gay ; 

While broken teacups, wisely kept for show, 

Ranged o'er the chimney, glistened in a row. 
Vain, transitory splendors ! could not all 
10 Reprieve the tottering mansion from its fall ? 

Obscure it sinks, nor shall it more impart 

An hour's importance to the poor man's heart; 

Thither no more the peasant shall repair 

To sweet oblivion of his daily care ; 
15 No more the farmer's news, the barber's tale. 

No more the woodman's ballad, shall prevail ; 

No more the smith his dusky brow shall clear. 

Relax his ponderous strength, and learn to hear; 

The host himself no longer shall be found 
20 Careful to see the mantling glass go round ; 

Nor the coy maid, half willing to be pressed, 

Shall kiss the cup to pass it to the rest. 

Yes ! let the rich deride, the proud disdain. 

These simple blessings of the lowly train ; 
25 To me more dear, congenial to my heart. 

One native charm than all the gloss of art ; 

Spontaneous joys, where nature has its play, 

The soul adopts, and owns their first-horn sway ; 

Lightly they frolic o'er the vacant mind, 
30 Unenvied, unmolested, unconfined. 

But the long pomp, the midnight masquerade, 

With all the freaks of wanton wealth arrayed, 

In these, ere triflers half their wish obtain. 

The toiling pleasure sickens into pain ; 
35 And e'en while fashion's brightest arts decoy. 

The heart, distrusting, asks if this be joy. 

Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen, who survey 

The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 

'T is yours to judge how wide the limits stand 
40 Between a splendid and a happy land. 

Proud swells the tide with loads of freighted ore, 

And shouting Folly hails them from her shore ; 

Hoards e'en beyond the miser's wish abound, 

And rich men flock from all the world around. 



EX. Xn.] RHETORICAL READING. 185 

Yet count our gains. This wealth is but a name, 

That leaves our useful products still the same. 
Not so the loss. The man of wealth and pride 

Takes up a space that many poor supplied ; 
5 Space for his lake, his park's extended bounds, 

Space for his horses, equipage, and hounds ; 

The robe that wraps his limbs in silken sloth 

Has robbed the neighboring fields of half their growth ; 
His seat, where solitary sports are seen, 
10 Indignant spurns the cottage from the green ; 

Around the world each needful product flies, 

For all the luxuries the world supplies. 

While thus the land, adorned for pleasure all, 

In barren splendor feebly waits the fall. 
15 As some fair female, unadorned and plain, 

Secure to please while youth confirms her reign. 

Slights every borrowed charm that dress supplies, 

Nor shares with art the triumph of her eyes ; 

But when those charms are past — for charms are frail — 
20 When time advances, and when lovers fail. 

She then shines forth, solicitous to bless, 

In all the glaring impotence of dress ; — 
Thus fares the land by luxury betrayed. 

In nature's simplest charms at first arrayed ; 
25 But, verging to decline, its splendors rise, 

Its vistas strike, its palaces surprise ; 

While, scourged by famine from the smiling land, 

The mournful peasant leads his humble band; 

And while he sinks, without one arm to save, 
30 The country blooms — a garden and a grave. 

Where, then, ah ! where shall Poverty reside, 

To escape the pressure of contiguous Pride ? 

If to some common's fenceless limits strayed, 

He drives his flock to pick the scanty blade, 
35 Those fenceless fields the sons of wealth divide, 

And e'en the bare-worn common is denied. 
If to the city sped — what waits him there ? 

To see profusion that he must not share ; 

To see ten thousand baneful arts combined 
40 To pamper luxury and thin mankind ; 

To see each joy the sons of Pleasure know 

Extorted from his fellow-creature's woe. 
Here, while the courtier glitters in brocade, 

There the pale artist plies the sickly trade ; 
16^ 



186 Parker's exercises in [ex. xn. 

Here, while the proud their long-drawn pomp display, 

There the black gibbet glooms beside the way ; 

The dome where Pleasure holds her midnight reign, 

Here, richly decked, admits the gorgeous train ; 
5 Tumultuous pleasure crowds the blazing square, 

The rattling chariots clash, the torches glare. 
Sure scenes like these no troubles e'er annoy ! 

Sure these denote one universal joy ! 

Are these thy serious thoughts? — Ah ! turn thine eyes 
10 Where the poor, houseless, shivering female lies ; 

She once, perhaps, in village plenty blessed. 

Has wept at tales of innocence depressed ; 
Her modest looks the cottage might adorn, 

Sweet as the primrose peeps beneath the thorn ; 
15 Now lost to all, her friends, her virtue fled. 

Near her betrayer's door she lays her head. 

And, pinched with cold, and shrinking from the shower, 

With heavy heart deplores that luckless hour, 

When idly first, ambitious of the town, 
20 She left her wheel and robes of country brown. 

Do thine, sweet Auburn, thine, the loveliest train. 

Do thy fair tribes participate her pain ? 

E'en now, perhaps, by cold and hunger led. 

At proud men's doors they ask a little bread ! 
25 Ah, no. To distant climes, a dreary scene. 

Where half the convex world intrudes between, 

Through torrid tracts with fainting steps they go. 

Where wild Altama murmurs to their woe. 

Far difl"erent there from all that charmed before, 
30 The various terrors of that horrid shore ; 

Those blazing suns that dart a downward ray. 

And fiercely shed intolerable day ; 

Those matted woods where birds forget to sing, 

But silent bats in drowsy clusters cling ; 
35 Those poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned, 

Where the dark scorpion gathers death around: 

Where at each step the stranger fears to wake 

The rattling terrors of the vengeful snake ; 

Where crouching tigers wait their hapless prey, 
40 And savage men, more murderous still than they; 

While oft" in whirls the mad tornado flies. 

Mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies. 
Far different these from every former scene. 

The cooling brook, the grassy-vested green, 



EX. XII.] RHETORICAL READING. 187 

The breezy covert of the warbling grove, 

That only sheltered thefts of harmless love. 

Good Heaven ! what sorrows gloomed that parting day, 

That called them from their native walks away ; 
5 When the poor exiles, every pleasure past, 

Hung round the bowers, and fondly looked their last, 

And took a long farewell, and wished in vain 

For seats like these beyond the western main ; 

And shuddering still to face the distant deep, 
10 Returned and wept, and still returned to weep. 
The good old sire the first prepared to go 

To new-found worlds, and wept for others' woe ; 

But for himself, in conscious virtue brave. 

He only wished for worlds beyond the grave. 
15 His lovely daughter, lovelier in her tears, 

The fond companion of his helpless years. 

Silent went next, neglectful of her charms. 

And left a lover's for a father's arms. 

With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, 
20 And blessed the cot where every pleasure rose; 

And kissed her thoughtless babes with many a tear, 

And clasped them close, in sorrow doubly dear ; 

While her fond husband strove to lend relief, 

In all the silent manhness of grief. 
25 Oh, Luxury ! thou cursed by Heaven's decree. 

How ill-exchanged are things like these for thee ! 

How do thy potions, with insidious joy. 

Diffuse their pleasures only to destroy ! 

Kingdoms by thee to sickly greatness grown, 
30 Boast of a florid vigor not their own. 

At every draught more large and large they grow, 

A bloated mass of rank, unwieldly woe ; 

Till, sapped their strength, and every part unsound, 

Down, down they sink, and spread a ruin round. 
35 E'en now the devastation is begun. 

And half the business of destruction done ; 

E'en now, methinks, as pondering here I stand, 

I see the rural virtues leave the land. 

Down where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail, 
40 That, idly waiting, flaps with every gale. 

Downward they move, a melancholy band, 

Pass from the shore, and darken all the strand. 

Contented Toil, and hospitable Care, 

And kind connubial Tenderness, are there ; 



188 Parker's exercises in [ex. xra. 

And Piety, with wishes placed above, 

And steady Loyaky, and faithful Love. 

And thou, sweet Poetry ! thou loveliest maid, 

Still first to fly where sensual joys invade ! 
5 Unfit, in these degenerate times of shame, 

To catch the heart, or strike for honest Fame : 

Dear, charming nymph, neglected and decried. 

My shame in crowds, my solitary pride ; 

Thou source of all my bliss and all my woe, 
10 That found'st me poor at first, and keep'st me so; 

Thou guide by which the nobler arts excel, 

Thou nurse of every virtue, fare thee well. 
Farewell, and oh I where'er thy voice be tried, 

On Torno's clifTs or Pambamarca's side, 
15 Whether where equinoctial fervors glow. 

Or winter wraps the polar world in snow. 

Still let thy voice, prevailing over time, 

Redress the rigors of the inclement clime ; 

And slighted Truth, with thy persuasive strain, 
20 Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain ; 

Teach him that states, of native strength possessed, 

Though very poor, may still be very blessed ; 

That trade's proud empire hastes to swift decay, 

As ocean sweeps the labored mole away ; 
25 While self-dependent power can time defy. 

As rocks resist the billows and the sky. Goldsmith. 



EXERCISE XIII. 

The Journey of a Day ; a Picture of Human Life. 

Obidah, the son of Abensina, left the caravansera early 
in the morning, and pursued his journey through the 
plains of Indostan. He was fresh and vigorous with rest; 
30 he was animated with hope ; he was incited by desire ; 
he walked swiftly forward over the valleys, and saw the 
hills gradually rising before him. 

As he passed along, his ears were delighted with the 

morning song of the bird of paradise ; he was fanned by 

35 the last flutters of the sinking breeze, and sprinkled with 

dew from groves of spices. He sometimes contemplated 

the towering height of the oak, monarch of the hills ; and 

- sometimes caught the gentle fragrance of the primrose, 



EX. XIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 189 

eldest daughter of the spring : all his senses were grati- 
fied, and all care was banished from his heart. 

Thus he went on, till the sun approached his meridian, 
and the increased heat preyed upon his strength ; he then 

5 looked round about him for some more commodious path. 
He saw, on his right hand, a grove that seemed to wave 
its shades as a sign of invitation ; he entered it, and found 
the coolness and verdure irresistibly pleasant. 

He did not, however, forget whither he was travelling, 

10 but found a narrow way bordered with flowers, which ap- 
peared to have the same direction with the main road ; 
and was pleased, that, by this happy experiment, he had 
found means to unite pleasure with business, and to gain 
the rewards of diligence without suffering its fatigues. 

15 He, therefore, still continued to walk for a time, without 
the least remission of his ardor, except that he was some- 
times tempted to stop by the music of the birds, which the 
heat had assembled in the shade ; and sometimes amused 
himself with plucking the flowers that covered the banks 

20 on either side, or the fruits that hung upon the branches. 

At last, the green path began to decline from its first 

tendency, and to wind among hills and thickets, cooled 

with fountains, and murmuring with waterfalls. Here 

Obidah paused for a time, and began to consider whether 

25 it were longer safe to forsake the known and common 
track; but remembering that the heat was now in its 
greatest violence, and that the plain was dusty and uneven, 
he resolved to pursue the new path, which he supposed 
only to make a few meanders, in compliance with the va- 

30 rieties of the ground, and to end at last in the common 
road. 

Having thus calmed his solicitude, he renewed his pace, 
though he suspected that he was not gaining ground. 
This uneasiness of his mind inclined him to lay hold on 

35 every new object, and give way to every sensation that 
might soothe or divert him. He listened to every echo ; 
he mounted every hill for a fresh prospect; he turned 
aside to every cascade ; and pleased himself with tracing 
the course of a gentle river that rolled among the trees 

40 and watered a large region with innumerable circumvolu- 
tions. 

In these amusements the hours passed away unaccount- 
ed ; his deviations had perplexed his memory, and he 
knew not towards what point to travel. He stood pensive 



190 Parker's exercises in [ex. xin. 

and confused, afraid to go forward lest he should go wrong, 
yet conscious that the time of loitering was now past. 
While he was thus tortured with uncertainty, the sky was 
overspread with clouds ; the day vanished from before him, 

5 and a sudden tempest gathered round his head. 

He was now roused by his danger to a quick and pain- 
ful remembrance of his folly ; he now saw how happiness 
is lost when ease is consulted ; he lamented the unmanly 
impatience that prompted him to seek shelter in the grove, 

10 and despised the petty curiosity that led him on from, trifle 
to trifle. While he was thus reflecting, the air grew 
blacker, and a clap of thunder broke his meditation. 

He now resolved to do what yet remained in his power — 
to tread back the ground which he had passed, and try to 

15 find some issue where the wood might open into the plain. 
He prostrated himself on the ground, and recommended 
his life to the Lord of Nature. He rose with confidence 
and tranquillity, and pressed on with resolution. 

The beasts of the desert were in motion, and on every 

20 hand were heard the mingled howls of rage and fear, and 
ravage and expiration. All the horrors of darkness and 
solitude surrounded him; the winds roared in the woods, 
and the torrents tumbled from the hills. 

Thus forlorn and distressed, he wandered through the 

25 wild, without knowing whither he was going, or whether 
he was every moment drawing nearer to safety, or to de- 
struction. At length, not fear, but labor, began to over- 
come him ; his breath grew short, and his knees trembled, 

• and he was on the point of lying down in resignation to 

30 his fate, when he beheld, through the brambles, the glim- 
mer of a taper. 

He advanced towards the light, and finding that it pro- 
ceeded from the cottage of a hermit, he called humbly at 
the door, and obtained admission. The old man set be- 

35 fore him such provisions as he had collected for himself, 
on which Obidah fed with eagerness and gratitude. 

When the repast was over, " Tell me," said the hermit, 
" by what chance thou hast been brought hither? I have 
been now twenty years an inhabitant of the wilderness, in 

40 which I never saw a man before." Obidah then related 
the occurrences of his journey, without any concealment 
or palliation. 

" Son," said the hermit, "let the errors and follies, the 
dangers and escape, of this day, sink deep into thy heart. 



EX. Xm.] RHETORICAL READING. 191 

Remember, my son, that human life is the journey of a 
day. We rise in the morning of youth, full of vigor, and 
full of expectation ; we set forward with spirit and hope, 
with gayety and with diligence, and travel on a while in 

5 the direct road of piety towards the mansions of rest. In 
a short time, we remit our fervor, and endeavor to find 
some mitigation of our duty, and some more easy means 
of obtaining the same end. 

" We then relax our vigor, and resolve no longer to be 

10 terrified with crimes at a distance ; but rely upon our own 
constancy, and venture to approach what we resolve never 
to touch. We thus enter the bowers of ease, and repose 
in the shades of security. Here the heart softens, and 
vigilance subsides ; we are then willing to inquire whether 

15 another advance cannot be made, and whether we may 

not, at least, turn our eyes upon the gardens of pleasure. 

" We approach them with scruple and hesitation ; we enter 

them, but enter timorous and trembling ; and always hope 

to pass through them without losing the road of virtue, 

20 which, for a while, we keep in our sight, and to which we 
purpose to return. 

" But temptation succeeds temptation, and one compli- 
ance prepares us for another ; we in time lose the happi- 
ness of innocence, and solace our disquiet with sensual 

25 gratifications. By degrees, we let fall the remembrance 
of our original intention, and quit the only adequate ob- 
ject of rational desire. We entangle ourselves in busi- 
ness, immerge ourselves in luxury, and rove through the 
labyrinths of inconstancy; till the darkness of old age 

30 begins to invade us, and disease and anxiety obstruct our 
way. 

" We then look back upon our lives with horror, with 
sorrow, with repentance; and wish, but too often vainly 
wish, that we had not forsaken the ways of virtue. Happy 

35 are they, my son, who shall learn from thy example not 
to despair ; but shall remember, that, though the day is 
past, and their strength is wasted, there yet remains one 
efibrt to be made ; that reformation is never hopeless, nor 
sincere endeavors ever unassisted; that the wanderer may 

40 at length return after all his errors, and that he who im- 
plores strength and courage from above shall find danger 
and difiiculty give way before him. 

"Go now, my son, to thy repose ; commit thyself to the 
care of Omnipotence ; and when the morning calls again 

45 to toil, begin anew thy journey and thy life." — Dr. Johmon. 



192 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [EX. XIV 

EXERCISE XIY 

A Summer Morning. 

From brightening fields of ether fair disclosed, 
Child of the Sun, refulgent Summer comes, 
In pride of youth, and felt through Nature's depth. 
He comes attended by the sultry Hours, 
5 And ever-fanning breezes on his way ; 

While, from his ardent look, the turning Spring 
Averts her blushful face ; and earth and skies, 
All smiling, to his hot dominion leaves. 

4£, 4«, .i^ 4t- -^ 

-?r '7«* "Tv* 'Tv' •yf' 

With what an awful, world-revolving power 

10 Were first the unwieldly planets launched along 
The illimitable void ! thus to remain, 
Amid the flux of many thousand years, 
That oft has swept the toiling race of men 
And all their labored monuments away, 

15 Firm, unremitting, matchless, in their course ; 
To the kind-tempered change of night and day, 
And of the seasons ever stealing round, 
Minutely faithful ; such the All-perfect Hand, 
That poised, impels, and rules the steady whole ! 

20 When now no more the alternate Twins are fired. 
And Cancer reddens with the solar blaze. 
Short is the doubtful empire of the night; 
And soon, observant of approaching day. 
The meek-eyed Morn appears, mother of dews, 

25 At first faint-gleaming in the dappled east : 
Till far o'er ether spreads the widening glow; 
And, from before the lustre of her face. 
White break the clouds away. With quickened step. 
Brown Night retires : young Day pours in apace, 

30 And opens ail the lawny prospect wide. 

The dripping rock, the mountain's misty top. 
Swell on the sight, and brighten with the dawn. 

Blue, through the dusk, the smoking currents shine ; 
And from the bladed field the fearful hare 

85 Limps, awkward ; while along the forest glade 
The wild deer trip, and, often turning, gaze 
At early passenger. Music awakes 
The native voice of undissembled joy. 
And thick around the woodland hymns arise. 

40 Housed by the sock, the soon-clad shepherd I«ave« 



EX. XIV.] RHETORICAL READIIsG. 193 

His mossy cottage, where with peace he dwells ; 

And from the crowded fold, in order, drives 

His flock, to taste the verdure of the morn. 
Falsely luxurious ! will not Man awake, 
5 And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy 

The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, 

To meditation due and sacred song ? 

For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise ? 

To lie in dead oblivion, losing half 
10 The fleeting moments of too short a life ; 

Total extinction of the enlightened soul ! 

Or else, to feverish vanity alive, 

Wildered, and tossing through distempered dreams ? 
Who would in such a gloomy state remain 
15 Longer than Nature craves, when every Muse 

And every blooming pleasure wait without, 

To bless the wildly-devious morning walk ? 
But yonder comes the powerful King of Day, 

Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, 
20 The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow 

Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach 

Betoken glad. 

Lo ! now, apparent all. 

Aslant the dew-bright earth and colored air, 
25 He looks in boundless majesty abroad ; 

And sheds the shining day, that burnished plays 

On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, 

High gleaming from afar. 

Prime cheerer, Light ! 
30 Of all material beings first and best ! 

Efflux divine ! Nature's resplendent robe ! 

Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapped 

In unessential gloom ! and thou, Sun ! 

Soul of surrounding worlds ! in whom, best seen, 
35 Shines out thy Maker ! may I sing of thee ? 
'T is by thy secret, strong, attractive force, • 

As with a chain indissoluble bound. 

Thy system rolls entire : from the far bourn 

Of utmost Saturn, wheeling wide his round 
40 Of thirty years, to Mercury, whose disk 

Can scarce be caught by philosophic eye, 

Lost in the near effulgence of thy blaze. 
Informer of the planetary train ! 

Without whose quickening glance their cumbrous orbs 
17 



194 Parker's exercises in [ex. xv. 

Were brute, unlovely mass, inert and dead, 
And not, as now, the green abodes of life I 
How many forms of being wait on thee ! 
Inhaling spirit; from the unfettered mind, 
5 By thee sublimed, down to the daily race. 
The mixing myriads of thy setting beam. 

The vegetable world is also thine, 
Parent of seasons ! who the pomp precede 
That waits thy throne, as through thy vast domain, 

10 Annual, along the bright ecliptic road, 

In world-rejoicing state, it moves sublime. 

Meantime the expecting nations, circled gay 
With all the various tribes of foodful earth. 
Implore thy bounty, or send grateful up 

15 A common hymn ; while, round thy beaming car, 
High seen, the Seasons lead, in sprightly dance 
Harmonious knit, — the rosy-fingered Hours,— 
The Zephyrs floating loose, — the timely Rains, 
Of bloom ethereal, — the light-footed Dews, — 

20 And softened into joy the surly Storms. 

These, in successive turn, with lavish hand, 
Shower every beauty, every fragrance shower. 
Herbs, flowers and fruits ; till, kindling at thy touch, 
From land to land is flushed the vernal year."^ 

Thomson. 



EXERCISE XV. 

The Parable of the Ewe Lamb. 

From the Second Book of Samuel, Chapter xii. 

25 And the Lord sent Nathan unto David. And he came 
unto him, and said unto him. There were two men in one 
city ; the one rich, and the other poor. The rich man had 
exceeding many flocks and herds : but the poor man had 
nothing- save one little ewe lamb, which he had bought 

30 and nourished up : and it grew up together with him, and 
with his children ; it did eat of his own meat, and drank 
of his own cup, and lay in his bosom, and was unto him 
as a daughter. 

* The student who is in search of poetical beauties will probably look in 
vain, among ancient or nnodern authors, for a more remarkable instance of the 
union of beauty and sublimity in imagery, than is presented in the con- 
cluding portion of this extract. 



EX. XVI.J RHETORICAL READING. 195 

And there came a traveller unto the rich man, and he 

spared to take of his own flock and of his own herd, to 

dress for the wayfaring man that was come unto him ; 

but took the poor man's lamb, and dressed it for the man 

5 that was come to him. 

And David's anger was greatly kindled against the man ; 
and he said to Nathan, As the Lord liveth, the man that 
hath done this thing shall surely die. And he shall re- 
store the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and 

10 because he had no pity. 

And Nathan said to David, Thou art the man. Thus 
saith the Lord God of Israel, I anointed thee king over 
Israel, and I delivered thee out of the hand of Saul. And 
I gave thee thy master's house, and thy master's wives 

15 into thy bosom, and gave thee the house of Israel and of 
Judah ; and if that had been too little, I would moreover 
have given unto thee such and such things. 

Wherefore hast thou despised the commandment of the 
Lord, to do evil in his sight ? thou hast killed Uriah the 

20 Hittite with the sword, and hast taken his wife to be thy 
wife, and hast slain him with the sword of the children of 
Ammon. Now therefore the sword shall never depart from 
thine house; because thou hast despised me, and hast taken 
the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be thy wife. Thus saith 

25 the Lord, Behold, I will raise up evil against thee out of 
thine own house, and I will take thy wives before thine 
eyes, and give them unto thy neighbor. 

*ii. .Ai, .ii, -M- .iA. *XA, 

'TV' "TV* -Tr "Tr •Tr 'Sv' 

And David said unto Nathan, I have sinned against the 
Lord. And Nathan said unto David, The Lord also hath 
30 put away thy sin ; thou shalt not die. Howbeit, because 
by this deed thou hast given great occasion to the enemies 
of the Lord to blaspheme, the child also that is bom unto 
thee shall surely die. 

And Nathan departed unto his house. 



EXERCISE XVI. 

Meditation. 

35 These are the haunts of Meditation, these 

The scenes where ancient bards the inspiring breath, 
Ecstatic, felt ; and, from this world retired, 



196 Parker's exercises in [ex. xvi. 

Conversed 'with angels and immortal forms, 
On gracious errands bent : to save the fall 
Of virtue struggling on the brink of vice ; 
In waking whispers, and repeated dreams, 
5 To hint pure thought, and warn the favored soul 
For future trials fated to prepare ; 
To prompt the poet, who, devoted, gives 
His muse to better themes ; to soothe the pangs 
Of dying worth, and from the patriot's breast 

10 (Backward to mingle in detested war, 

And foremost when engaged) to turn the death ; 
And numberless such offices of love. 
Daily and nightly, zealous to perform. 

Shook sudden from the bosom of the sky, 

15 A thousand shapes or glide athwart the dust, 
Or stalk majestic on. Deep roused, I feel 
A sacred terror, a severe delight. 

Creep through my mortal frame ; and thus, methinks, 
A voice, than human more, the abstracted ear 

20 Of fancy strikes : — "Be not of us afraid. 
Poor kindred man ! thy fellow-creatures, we 
From the same parent power our beings drew, 
The same our Lord, and laws, and great pursuit. 
Once some of ns, like thee, through stormy life 

25 Toiled J tempest-beaten, ere we could attain 
This holy calm, this harmony of mind, 
Where purity and peace immingle charms. 
Then fear not us ; but with responsive song. 
Amid these dim recesses, undisturbed 

30 By noisy folly and discordant vice. 

Of Nature sing with us, and Nature's God. 
Here frequent, at the visionary hour 
When musing midnight reigns, or silent noon, 
Angelic harps are in full concert heard, 

35 And voices chanting from the wood-crowned hill. 
The deepening dale, or inmost sylvan glade ; 
A privilege bestowed by us, alone. 
On Contemplation, or the hallowed ear 
Of poet, swelling to seraphic strain. Thomson. 



EX. XVn.] RHETORICAL READING. 197 

. EXERCISE XYII. 

TJie Planetary and Terrestrial Worlds comparatively 

considered. 

To us, who dwell on its surface, the earth is by far the 
most extensive orb that our eyes can anywhere behold : it 
is also clothed with verdure, distinguished by trees, and 
adorned with a variety of beautiful decorations ; whereas, 
5 to a spectator placed on one of the planets, it wears a uni- 
form aspect; looks all luminous; and no larger than a 
spot. 

To beings who dwell at still greater distances it entirely 
disappears. That which we call alternately the morning 

10 and the evening star (as in one part of the orbit she rides 
foremost in the procession of night, in the other ushers in 
and anticipates the dawn) is a planetary world. This 
planet, and the four others that so wonderfully vary their 
mystic dance, are in themselves dark bodies, and shine 

15 only by reflection ; have fields and seas and skies of their 
own ; are furnished with all accommodations for animal 
subsistence, and are supposed to be the abodes of intellect- 
ual life ; all which, together with our earthly habitations, 
are dependent on that grand dispenser of divine munifi- 

20 cence, the sun ; receive their light from the distribution 
of his rays, and derive their comfort from his benign 
agency. 

The sun, which seems to perform its daily stages through 
the sky, is in this respect fixed and immovable ; it is the 

25 great axle of heaven, about which the globe we inhabit, 
and other more spacious orbs, wheel their stated courses. 
The sun, though seemingly smaller than the dial it illumi- 
nates, is abundantly larger than this whole earth, on which 
so many lofty mountains rise, and such vast oceans roll. 

30 A line extending from side to side, through the centre of 
that resplendent orb, would measure more than eight hun- 
dred thousand miles ; a girdle formed to go round its cir- 
cumference would require a length of millions. Were its 
solid contents to be estimated, the account would overwhelm 

35 our understanding, and be almost beyond the power of 
language to express. Are we startled at these reports of 
philosophy ? 

Are we ready to cry out, in a transport of surprise, 
" How mighty is the Being who kindled so prodigious a 

40 fire, and keeps alive, from age to age, so enormous a mass 
18=^ 



198 Parker's exercises in [ex. xvn. 

of flame?" Let us attend our philosophical guides, and 
we shall be brought acquainted with speculations more 
enlarged and more inflaming. 

This sun, with all its attendant planets, is but a very 

5 little part of the grand machine of the universe ; every 
star, though in appearance no bigger than the diamond 
that glitters upon a lady's ring, is really a vast globe, like 
the sun in size and in glory ; no less spacious, no less 
luminous, than the radiant source of day. So that every 

10 star is not barely a world, but the centre of a magnificent 
system ; has a retinue of worlds, irradiated by its beams, 
and revolving round its attractive influence, all which are 
lost to our sight in unmeasurable wilds of ether. 

That the stars appear like so many diminutive and 

15 scarcely distinguishable points, is owing to their immense 
and inconceivable distance. Immense and inconceivable 
indeed it is, since a ball shot from the loaded cannon, and 
flying with unabated rapidity, must travel, at this impetu- 
ous rate, almost seven hundred thousand years, before it 

20 could reach the nearest of these twinkling luminaries. 

While, beholding this vast expanse, I learn my own ex- 
treme meanness, I would also discover the abject littleness 
of all terrestrial things. What is the earth, with all her 
ostentatious scenes, compared with this astonishing grand 

25 furniture of the skies ? what, but a dim speck, hardly per- 
ceivable in the map of the universe ? 

It is observed by a very judicious writer, that if the sun 
himself, which enlightens this part of the creation, were 
extinguished, and all the host of planetary worlds, which 

30 move about him, were annihilated, they would not be 
missed by an eye that can take in the whole compass of 
nature, any more than a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. 
The bulk of which they consist, and the space which they 
occupy, are so exceedingly little in comparison of the 

35 whole, that their loss would scarcely leave a blank in the 
immensity of God's works. 

If, then, not our globe only, but this whole system, be 
so very diminutive, what is a kingdom, or a country ? 
What are a few lordships, or the so much admired patri- 

40 monies of those who are styled wealthy ? When I meas- 
ure them with my own little pittance, they swell into 
proud and bloated dimensions : but when I take the uni- 
verse for my standard, how scanty is their size, how 
contemptible their figure ! They shrink into pompous 

45 nothings. — Addison, 



EX. rvm.] RHETORICAL READING. 19& 

EXERCISE XYIII. 
Quarrel between Roderick Dku and Fitz-James. 

The shades of eve come slowly down, 

The woods are wrapped in deeper brown, 

The owl awakens from her dell, 

The fox is heard upon the fell ; 
5 Enough remains of glimmering light 

To guide the wanderer's steps aright. 

Yet not enough from far to show 

His figure to the watchful foe. 

With cautious step, and ear awake, 
10 He climbs the crag and threads the brake ; 

And not the summer solstice there 

Tempered the midnight mountain air, 

But every breeze that swept the woid 

Benumbed his drenched limbs with cold. 
15 In dread, in danger, and alone, 

Famished and chilled, through ways unknown, 

Tangled and steep, he^ journeyed on; 

Till, as a rock's huge point he turned, 

A watch-fire close before him burned. 
20 Beside its embers red and clear. 

Basked, in his plaid, a mountaineer ; 

And up he sprung, with sword in hand, — 

" Thy name and purpose ! Saxon, stand ! " — 

" A stranger," — " What dost thou require ? " — 
25 " Rest and a guide, and food and fire. 

My life 's beset, m.y path is lost, 

The gale has chilled my limbs with frost." — 
" Art thou a friend to Roderick ?" — " No." — 

" Thou darest not call thyself a foe ? " — 
30 " I dare ! to him and all the band 

He brings to aid his murderous hand." — 

" Bold words ! — but though the beast of Sfame 

The privilege of chase may claim, 

Though space and law the stag we lend, 
35 Ere hound we slip, or bow we bend, 

Who ever recked, where, how, or when. 

The prowling fox was trapped or slain ? 

Thus treacherous scouts, — yet sure they lie. 

Who say thou cam'st a secret spy ! " — 

* Fitz-James, 



200 Parker's exercises in [ex. xviii. 

" They do, by heaven ! — C^me Roderick Dhu, 

And of his clan the boldest two, 

And let me but till morning rest, 

I write the falsehood on their crest." — 
5 " If by the blaze I mark aright. 

Thou bear'st the belt and spur of knight." ■ — 

" Then by these tokens may'st thou know 

Each proud oppressor's mortal foe." — 
" Enough, enough ; sit down and share 
10 A soldier's couch, a soldier's fare." 

He gave him of his highland cheer, 

The hardened flesh of mountain deer ; 

Dry fuel on the fire he laid. 

And bade the Saxon share his plaid ; 
15 He tended him like welcome guest, 

Then thus his further speech addressed : 
" Stranger, I am to Roderick Dhu 

A clansman born, a kinsman true ; 

Each word against his honor spoke 
20 Demands of me avenging stroke ; 

Yet more, — upon thy fate, 't is said, 

A mighty augury is laid. 

It rests with me to wind my horn, — 

Thou art with numbers overborne ; 
25 It rests with me, here, brand to brand, 

Worn as thou art, to bid thee stand ; 

But, nor for clan nor kindred's cause, 

Will I depart from honor's laws : 

To assail a wearied man were shame, 
30 And stranger is a holy name ; 

Guidance and rest, and food and fire, 

In vain he never must require. 

Then rest thee here till dawn of day. 

Myself will guide thee on the way, 
35 O'er stock and stone, through watch and ward, 

Till past Clan-Alpin's outmost guard, 

As far as Coilantogle's ford ; 

From thence thy warrant is thy sword." — 
" I take thy courtesy, by heaven, 
40 As freely as 't is nobly given ! " — 

" Well, rest thee ; for the bittern's cry 

Sings us the lake's wild lullaby." 

With that he shook the gathered heath, 

And spread his plaid upon the wreath ; 



EX. XVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 201 

And the brave foemen, side by side, 
Lay peaceful down, like brothers tried, 
And slept until the dawning beam 
Purpled the mountain and the stream. 

^ 4A, -Ai, .SL. -i£- .Vf 

•?^ -T?- -Tf* Vf- W TT 

5 That early beam, so fair and sheen, 

Was twinkling through the hazel screen, 

When, rousing at its glimmer red, 

The warriors left their lowly bed, 

Looked out upon the dappled sky, 
10 Muttered their soldier matins by. 

And then awaked their fire, to steal, 

As short and rude, their soldier meal. 
That o'er, the Gael=^ around him threw 

His graceful plaid of varied hue, 
^15 And, true to promise, led the way, 

By thicket green and mountain gray. 

A wildering path ! — they winded now 

Along the precipice's brow. 

Commanding the rich scenes beneath, — 
20 The windings of the Forth and Teith, 

And all the vales between that lie. 

Till Stirling's turrets melt in sky ; 

Thence, sunk in copse, their farthest glance 

Gained not the length of horseman's lance. 
25 'T was oft so steep, the foot was fain 

Assistance from the hand to gain : 

So tangled oft, that, bursting through. 

Each hawthorn shed her showers of dew, — 

That diamond dew, so pure and clear. 

It rivals all but Beauty's tear ! 
30 At length they came where, stern and steep, 

The hill sinks down upon the deep ; 

-it- .Ai, -Si- -V* Jii- .M. 

•w 'Tf- ■TV' -Tf' "TV ^ 

So toilsome was the road to trace, 

The guide, abating of his pace, 
35 Led slowly through the pass's jaws. 

And asked Fitz-James by what strange cause 

He sought these wilds ; tmversed by few, 

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu ? 
" Brave Gael, my pass, in danger tried, 
40 Hangs in my belt, and by my side ; 

* The Scottish Highlander calls himself Gael, or Gaul, and terms the 
Lowlander, Sassenach, or Saxon. 



202 Parker's exercises in [ex. xvm. 

Yet, sooth to tell," the Saxon said, 

" I dreamed not now to claim its aid ; 

When here, but three days' since, I came, 

Bewildered in pursuit of game, 
5 All seemed as peaceful, and as still, 

As the mist slumbering on yon hill; 

Thy dangerous chief was then afar, 

Nor soon expected back from war ; 

Thus said, at least, my mountain guide, 
10 Though deep, perchance, the villain lied." — 
" Yet why a second venture try?" — 

" A warrior thou, and ask me why ! — 

Moves our free course by such fixed cause 

As gives the poor mechanic laws ? 
15 Enough I sought to drive away 

The lazy hours of peaceful day ; 

Slight cause will then suffice to guide 

A knight's free footsteps far and wide ; 

A falcon flown, a grayhouiid strayed, 
20 The merry glance of mountain maid : 

Or, if a path be dangerous knoAvn, 

The danger's self is lure alone." — 
" Thy secret keep ; I urge thee not; 

Yet, ere again ye sought this spot, 
25 Say, heard ye nought of lowland war, 

Against Clan-Alpin raised by Mar?" — 
" No, by mj word ; — of bands prepared 

To guard King James's sports I heard ; 

Nor doubt I aught, but when they hear 
30 This muster of the mountaineer. 

Their pennons will abroad be flung. 

Which else in Doune had peaceful hung." — 
" Free be they flung ! — for we were loth 

Their silken folds should feast the moth. 
35 Free be they flung I — as free shall wave 

Clan-Alpin's pine in banner brave. 

But, stranger, peaceful since you came, 

Bewildered in the mountain game, 

Whence the bold boast by which you show 
40 Vich-Alpin's vowed and mortal foe ?" — 
" Warrior, but 3'ester-morn, I knew 

Nought of thy chieftain, Eoderick Dhu, 

Save as an exiled, desperate man, 

The chief of a rebellious clan, 



EX. XVrn.J RHETOEICAL READLN^G. 203 

^\Tio, in the regent's court and sight, 

With ruffian dagger stabbed a knight. 

Yet this alone might from his part 

Sever each true and loyal heart." 
5 Wrathful at such arraignment foul, 

Dark lowered the clansman's sable scowl : 

A space he paused, then sternly said, — 

" And heardst thou why he drew" his blade ? 

Heardst thou that shameful word and blow 
10 Brought Roderick's vengeance on his foe ? 

What recked the chieftain, if he stood 

On highland heath, or Holy-Rood ? 

He writes such WTong where it is given, 

If it were in the court of heaven ! " — 
15 " Still was it outrage ; — yet, 't is true, 

Not then claimed sovereignty his due; 

While Albany, with feeble hand, 

Held borrowed truncheon of command. 

The young king, mewed in Stirling tower, 
20 Was stranger to respect and power. 

But then thy chieftain's robber life — 

Winning mean prey by causeless strife. 

Wrenching from ruined lowland swain 

His herds and harvest reared in vain — 
25 Methinks a soul like thine should scorn 

The spoils from such foul foray borne ! " 
The Gael beheld him grim the while, 

And answered vvith disdainful smile, — 

" Saxon, from yonder mountain high, 
30 I marked thee send delighted eye 

Far to the south and east, where lay, 

Extended in succession gay, 

Deep waving fields and pastures green. 

With gentle slopes and groves between. 
35 These fertile plains, that softened vale. 

Were once the birthright of the Gael ; 

The stranger came with iron hand. 

And from our fathers reft the land. 

Where dwell we now ? See rudely swell 
40 Crag over crag, and fell o'er fell. 

Ask we this savage hill we tread 

For fattened steer or household bread; 

iVsk we for flocks these shingles dry, 

And well the mountain might reply, — 



204 Parker's exercises in [ex. xviii. 

To you, as to your sires of yore, 

Belong the target and claymore ! 

I give you shelter in my breast, 

Your own good blades must win the rest.' 
5 Pent in this fortress of the North, 

Think'st thou we will not sally forth, 

To spoil the spoiler as we may, 

And from the robber rend the prey? 

Ay, by my soul ! — While on yon plain 
10 The Saxon rears one shock of grain ; 

While, of ten thousand herds, there strays 

But one along yon river's maze, — 

The Gael, of plain and river heir. 

Shall with strong hand redeem his share. 
15 Where live the mountain chiefs who hold 

That plundering lowland field and fold 

Is aught but retribution due ? 

Seek other cause 'gainst Roderick Dhu." 
Answered Fitz-James, — " And, if I sought, 
20 Think'st thou no other could be brought ? 

What deem ye of my path waylaid. 

My life given o'er to ambuscade ? " — 
" As of a meed to rashness due : 

Hadst thou sent warning fair and true, — 
25 I seek my hound, or falcon strayed, 

I seek, good faith, a highland maid,' — 

Free hadst thou been to come and go ; 

But secret path marks secret foe. 
Nor yet for this, e'en as a spy, 
30 Hadst thou unheard been doomed to die, 

Save to fulfil an augury." — 

" Well, let it pass ; nor will I now 

Fresh cause of enmity avow, 

To chafe thy mood and cloud thy brow. 
35 Enough, I am by promise tied 

To match me with this man of pride : 

Twice have I sought Clan-Alpin's glen 

In peace ; but, when I come again, 

I come with banner, brand, and bow, 
40 As leader seeks his mortal foe ; 

For lovelorn swain, in lady's bower. 

Ne'er panted for the appointed hour. 

As I, until before me stand 

This rebel chieftain and his band." 



EX. XVUl.] RHETORICAL READING. 205 

" Have then thy wish ! " He whistled shrill, 

And he was answered from the hill ; 

Wild as the scream of the curlew, 

From crag to crag the signal flew ; 
5 Instant, through copse and heath, arose 

Bonnets and spears and bended bows ; 

On right, on left, above, below, 

Sprung up at once the lurking foe ; 
From shingles gray their lances start, 
10 The bracken-bush sends forth the dart, 

The rushes and the willow-wand 

Are bristling into axe and brand, 

And every tuft of broom gives life 

To plaided warrior armed for strife. 
15 That whistle garrisoned the glen 

At once with full five hundred men, 

As if the yawning hill to heaven 

A subterranean host had given ; 

Watching their leader's beck and will, 
20 All silent there they stood, and still. 

Like the loose crags, whose threatening mass 

Lay tottering o'er the hollow pass. 

As if an infant's touch could urge 

Their headlong passage down the verge, 
25 With step and weapon forward flung, 

Upon the mountain side they hung. 
The mountaineer cast glance of pride 

Along Benledi's living side, 

Then fixed his eye and sable brow 
30 Full on Fitz- James, — " How say'st thou now? 

These are Clan-Alpin's warriors true : 

And, Saxon, — I am Roderick Dhu ! " 

Fitz- James was brave : — though to his heart ' . 

The life-blood thrilled with sudden start, 
35 He manned himself with dauntless air. 

Returned the chief his haughty stare. 

His back against a rock he bore, 

And firmly placed his foot before : 

" Come one, come all! this rock shall fly 
40 From its firm base as soon as I." 

Sir Roderick marked — and in his eyes 

Respect was mingled with surprise. 

And the stern joy which warriors feel 

In foemen worthy of their steel. 
18 



206 Parker's exercises in [ex. xviii. 

Short space he stood — then waved his hand; 

Down sunk the disappearing band ; 

Each warrior vanished where he stood, 

In broom or bracken, heath or wood ; 
5 Sunk brand and spear and bended bow 

In osiers pale and copses low ; 

It seemed as if their mother earth 

Had swallowed up her warlike birth. 
The wind's last breath had tossed in air 
10 Pennon, and plaid, and plumage fair, — 

The next but swept a lone hill-side, 

Where heath and fern were waving wide ; 

The sun's last glance was glinted back 

From lance and glaive, from targe and jack, — 
15 The next, all unrefiected, shone 

On bracken green, and cold gray stone. 

Fitz-James looked round — yet scarce believed 

The witness that his sight received ; 

Such apparition well might seem 
20 Delusion of a dreadful dream. 

Sir Roderick in suspense he eyed. 

And to his look the chief replied, 

" Fear nought — nay, that I need not say — 

But — doubt not aught from mine array. 
25 Thou art my guest ; I pledged my word 

As far as Coilantogle ford : 

Nor would I call a clansman's brand 

For aid against one valiant hand, 

Though on our strife lay every vale 
80 Kent by the Saxon from the Gael. 
So move we on ; I only meant 

To show the reed on which you leant. 

Deeming this path you might pursue 

Without a pass from Roderick Dhu." 
35 They moved — I said Fitz-James was brave 

As ever knight that belted glaive ; 

Yet dare not say that now his blood 

Kept on its wont and tempered flood, 

As, following Roderick's strides, he drew 
40 That seeming lonesome pathway through, 

Which yet, by fearful proof, was rife 

With lances, that to take his life 

Waited but signal from a guide 

So late dishonored and defied. 



EX. XVITI.] RHETORICAL READING. 207 

Ever, by stealth, his eye sought round 
The vanished guardians of the ground, 
And still from copse and heather deep 
Fancy saw spear and broadsword peep, 
5 And in the plover's shrilly strain 

The signal whistle heard again. 

Nor breathed he free till far behind 
The pass was left ; for then they wind 
Along a wide and level green, 
10 Where neither tree nor tuft was seen, 
Nor rush nor bush of broom was near, 
To hide a bonnet or a spear. 

The chief in silence strode before. 
And reached the torrent's sounding shore. 

Jq ^ ^ ^ -K- -7^ 

And here his course the chieftain staid, 

Threw down his target and his plaid. 

And to the lowland warrior said : — 

"Bold Saxon! to his promise just, 

20 Vich-Alpin has discharged his trust ; 

This murderous chief, this ruthless man. 

This head of a rebellious clan, 

Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, 

Far past Clan-Alpin's outmost guard. 
25 Now, man to man, and steel to steel, 

A chieftain's vengeance thou shalt feel. 

See, here all vantageless I stand, 

Armed, like thyself, with single brand ; 

For this is Coilantogle ford, 
30 And thou must keep thee with thy sword." 
The Saxon paused : — "I ne'er delayed, 

When foeman bade me draw my blade ; 

Nay more, brave chief, I vowed thy death : 

Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, 
35 And my deep debt for life preserved, 

A better meed have well deserved : 
Can nought but blood our feud atone ? 

Are there no means ? " — " No, stranger, none ! 

And here, — to fire thy flagging zeal, — 
40 The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; 

For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred 

Between the living and the dead : 

' Who spills the foremost foeman's life, 

His party conquers in the strife.' " — 



208 Parker's exercises in [ex. xvm. 

" Then, by my word," the Saxon said, 

" The riddle is already read ; 

See yonder brake beneath the cliff, — 

There lies Red Murdoch, stark and stiff. 
5 Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy, 

Then yield to Fate, and not to me ; 
To James, at Stirling, let us go, 

When, if thou wilt, be still his foe ; 

Or, if the king shall not agree 
10 To grant thee grace and favor free, 

I plight mine honor, oath and word. 

That, to thy native strength restored, 

With each advantage shalt thou stand 

That aids thee now to guard thy land." 
15 Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye — 

" Soars thy presumption, then, so high, 

Because a wretched kern ye slew. 

Homage to name to Roderick Dhu ? 

He yields not, he, to man nor Fate ! 
20 Thou add'st but fuel to my hate. — 

My clansman's blood demands revenge ! — 
Not yet prepared ? — By heaven, I change 

My thought, and hold th^^ valor light. 

As that of some vain carpet knight, 
25 Who ill deserved my courteous care, 

And whose best boast is but to wear 

A braid of his fair lady's hair!" — 

" I thank thee, Roderick, for the word! 

It nerves my heart, it steels my sword ; 
30 For I have sworn this braid to stain 

In the best blood that warms thy vein. 

Now, truce, farewell ! and ruth, begone ! — 

Yet think not that by thee alone, 

Proud chief ! can courtesy be shown. 
35 Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn. 

Start at my whistle clansmen stern. 

Of this small horn one feeble blast 

Would fearful odds against thee cast ; 

But fear not — doubt not — which thou wilt, 
40 We try this quarrel hilt to hilt." 

Then each at once his falchion drew, 

Each on the ground his scabbard threw. 

Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, 

As what they ne'er might see again ; 



EX. XVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 209 

Then, foot, and point, and eye opposed, 

In dubious strife they darkly closed. 
Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, 

That on the field his targe he threw, 
5 Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide 

Had death so often dashed aside ; 

For, trained abroad his aiins to wield, 

Fitz-James's blade was sword and shield. 
He practised every pass and ward, 
10 To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard ; 

While less expert, though stronger far, 

The Gael maintained unequal war. 

Three times in closing strife they stood, 

And thrice the Saxon svv'ord drank blood ; 
15 No stinted draught, no scanty tide, 

The gushing flood the tartans dyed. 
Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, 

And showered his blows like wintry rain ; 

And, as firm rock, or castle roof, 
20 Against the winter shower is proof, 

The foe, invulnerable still, 

Foiled his w^ld rage by steady skill ; 

Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand 

Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, 
25 And, backwards borne upon the lee. 

Brought the proud chieftain to his knee. 
" Now 3'ield thee, or, by Him who made 

The world, thy heart's blood dies my blade ! " — 

" Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy ! 
30 Let recreant yield who fears to die." 

Like adder darting from his coil. 

Like wolf that dashes through the toil. 

Like mountain-cat who guards her young, 

Full at Fitz-James's throat he sprung, 
35 Received, but recked not of a wound. 

And locked his arms his foeman round. — 
Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own ! 

No maiden's hand is round thee throwm ! 

That desperate grasp thy frame might feel 
40 Through bars of brass and triple steel ! 

They tug, they strain ; — dowm, dowm they go, 

The Gael above, Fitz-James below. 

The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed, 

His knee was planted on his breast; 
18=^ 



210 Parker's exercises in [ex. xix. 

His dotted locks he backward threw, 

Across his brow his hand he drew, 

From blood and mist to clear his sight, 

Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright ! 
5 But hate and fury ill supplied 

The stream of life's exhausted tide, 

And all too late the advantage came. 

To turn the odds of deadly game ; 

For, while the dagger gleamed on high, 
10 Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye ; 

Down came the blow ! but in the heath 

The erring blade found bloodless sheath. 
The struggling foe may now unclasp 

The fainting chief's relaxing grasp ; 
15 Unwounded from the dreadful close, 

But breathless all, Fitz-James arose. 
He faltered thanks to Heaven for life 

Redeemed, unhoped, from desperate strife ; 

Next on his foe his look he cast, 
20 Whose every gasp appeared his last ; 

In Roderick's gore he dipped the braid. — 

" Poor Blanche ! thy wrongs are dearly paid , 

Yet with thy foe must die or live 

The praise that Faith and Valor give." W. Scott. 



EXERCISE XIX. 
Schemes of Life often lllus(yry. 

25 Omar, the son of Hassan, had passed seventy-five years 
in honor and prosperity. The favor of three successive 
califs had filled his house with gold and silver ; and when- 
ever he appeared, the benedictions of the people proclaimed 
his passage. 

30 Terrestrial happiness is of short continuance. The 
brightness of the flame is wasting its fuel ; the fragrant 
flower is passing away in its own odors. The vigor of 
Omar began to fail; the curls of beauty fell from his 
head ; strength departed from his hands, and agility from 

35 his feet. He gave back to the calif the keys of trust, and 
the seals of secrecy; and sought no other pleasure for the 
remains of life than the converse of the wise and the 
gratitude of the good. 



EX. XIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 211 

The powers of his mind were yet unimpaired. His 
chamber was Jfilled by visitants, eager to catch the dictates 
of experience, and officious to pay the tribute of admira- 
tion. Caled, the son of the viceroy of Egypt, entered 

5 every day early, and retired late. He was beautiful and 
eloquent : Omar admired his wit, and loved his docility. 
" Tell me," said Caled, " thou to whose voice nations 
have listened, and whose wisdom is known to the extremi- 
ties of Asia, tell me how I may resemble Omar the prudent. 

10 The arts by which thou hast gained power and preserved 
it are to thee no longer necessary or useful ; impart to 
me the secret of thy conduct, and teach me the plan upon 
which thy wisdom has built thy fortune." 

" Young man," said Omar, " it is of little use to form 

15 plans of life. When I took my first survey of the world, 
in my twentieth year, having considered the various con- 
ditions of mankind, in the hour of solitude I said thus to 
myself, leaning against a cedar, which spread its branches 
over my head : ' Seventy years are allowed to man ; I 

20 have yet fifty remaining. 

" ' Ten years I will allot to the attainment of knowl- 
edge, and ten I will pass in foreign countries ; I shall be 
learned, and therefore shall be honored; every city will 
shout at my arrival, and every student will solicit my 

25 friendship. Twenty years thus passed will store my 
mind with images, which I shall be busy, through the rest 
of my life, in combining and comparing. I shall revel in 
inexhaustible accumulations of intellectual riches ; I shall 
find new pleasures for every moment, and shall never 

30 more be weary of myself. 

" ' I will not, however, deviate too far from the beaten 
track of life; but will try what can be found in female 
delicacy. I will marry a wife beautiful as the Houries, 
and wise as Zobeide; with her I will live twenty years 

35 within the suburbs of Bagdat, in every pleasure that 
wealth can purchase, and fancy can invent. 

" ' I will then retire to a rural dwelling ; pass my days 
in obscurity and contemplation ; and lie silently down on 
the bed of death. Through my life it shall be my settled 

40 resolution, that I will never depend upon the smile of 

, princes ; that I will never stand exposed to the artifices of 
courts ; I will never pant for public honors, nor disturb 
my quiet with the affairs of state.' Such was my scheme 
of life, which I impressed indelibly upon my memory. 



212 Parker's exercises in [ex. xix. 

" The first part of my ensuing time was to be spent in 
search of knowledge, and I know not how I was diverted 
from my design. I had no visible impediments without, 
nor any ungovernable passions within. I regarded knowl- 

5 edge as the highest honor, and. the most engaging pleas- 
ure ; yet day stole upon day, and month glided after 
month, till I found that seven years of the first ten had 
vanished, and left nothing behind them. 

" I now postponed my purpose of travelling ; for why 

10 should I go abroad, while so much remained to be learned 
at home ? I immured myself for four years, and studied 
the laws of the empire. The fame of my skill reached 
the judges : I was found able to speak upon doubtful ques- 
tions, and was commanded to stand at the footstool of the 

15 calif. I was heard with attention ; I was consulted with 
confidence, and the love of praise fastened on my heart. 

" I still wished to see distant countries ; listened with 
rapture to the relations of travellers, and resolved some 
time to ask my dismission, that I might feast my soul with 

20 novelty ; but my presence was always necessary, and the 
stream of business hurried me along. Sometimes I was 
afraid lest I should be charged with ingratitude ; but I 
still proposed to travel, and therefore would not confine 
myself by marriage. 

25 "In my fiftieth year I began to suspect that the time of 
travelling was past; and thought it best to lay hold on the 
felicity yet in my power, and indulge myself in domestic 
pleasures. But at fifty no man easily finds a woman 
beautiful as the Houries, and wise as Zobeide. I inquired 

30 and rejected, consulted and deliberated, till the sixty-sec- 
ond year made me ashamed of wishing to marry. I had 
now nothing left but retirement; and for retirement I 
never found a time, till disease forced me from public em- 
ployment. 

35 " Such was my scheme, and such has been its conse- 
quence. With an insatiable thirst for knowledge, I trifled 
away the years of improvement; with a restless desire of 
seeing different countries, I have always resided in the 
same city; with the highest expectation of connubial felic- 

40 ity, I have lived unmarried ; and with unalterable resolu- 
tions of contemplative retirement, I am going to die .with- 
in the walls of Bagdat." — Dr. Johnson. 



EX. XX.] RHETORICAL READING. 213 



EXERCISE XX. 
A Dream. 

1 HAD a dream — a strange, wild dream — 

Said a dear voice at early light ; 

And even yet its shadows seem 

To linger in my waking sight. 
5 Earth, green with spring, and fresh with dew, 

And bright with morn, before me stood; 

And airs, just wakened, softly blew 

On the young blossoms of the wood. 
Birds sang within the sprouting shade, 
10 Bees hummed amid the whispering grass, 

And children prattled as they played 

Beside the rivulet's dimpling glass. 

Fast climbed the sun : the flowers were flown, 

There played no children in the glen ; 
^h For some were gone, and some were grown 

To blooming dames and bearded men. 
'T was noon, 't was summer : I beheld 

Woods darkening in the flush of day, 

And that bright rivulet spread and swelled, 
20 A mighty stream, with creek and bay. 

And here was love, and there was strife, 

And mirthful shouts, and wrathful cries, 

And strong men, struggling as for life, 

With knotted limbs and angry eyes. 
25 Now stooped the sun — the shades grew thin ; 

The rustling paths were piled with leaves ; 

And sun-burnt groups were gathering in, 

From the shorn field, its fruits and sheaves. 
The river heaved with sullen sounds ; 
30 The chilly winds were sad with moans ; 

Black hearses passed, and burial-grounds 

Grew thick with monumental stones. 

Still waned the day; the wind that chased 

The jagged clouds blew chillier yet; 
35 The woods were stripped, the fields were waste, 

The wintry sun was near its set. 

And of the young, and strong, and fair, 

A lonely remnant, gray and weak. 

Lingered and shivered to the air 
40 Of that bleak shore and water bleak. 



214 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxi. 

Ah ! age is drear, and death is cold ! 
I turned to thee, for thou wert near, 
And saw thee withered, bowed and old, 
And woke all faint with sudden fear. 
5 'T was thus I heard the dreamer say, 

And bade her clear her clouded brow : 
" For thou and I, since childhood's day. 
Have walked in such a dream till now. 

" Watch we in calmness, as they rise, 
10 The changes of that rapid dream. 

And note its lessons, till our eyes 
Shall open in the morning beam." Bryant. 



EXERCISE XXL 
Ortogrvl ; or, the Vanity of Riches. 

As Ortogrul, of Basra, was one day wandering along 
the streets of Bagdat, musing on the varieties of merchan- 

15 dise which the shops opened to his view, and observing 
the different occupations which busied the multitude on 
every side, he was awakened from the tranquillity of med- 
itation by a crowd that obstructed his passage. He raised 
his eyes, and saw the chief vizier, who, having returned 

20 from the divan, was entering his palace. 

Ortogrul mingled with the attendants ; and being sup- 
posed to have some petition for the vizier, was permitted 
to enter. He surveyed the spaciousness of the apartments, 
admired the walls hung with golden tapestry, and the 

25 floors covered with silken carpets ; and despised the simple 
neatness of his own little habitation. 

" Surely," said he to himself, " this palace is the seat 
of happiness ; where pleasure succeeds to pleasure, and 
discontent and sorrow can have no admission. Whatever 

30 nature has provided for the delight of sense is here spread 
forth to be enjoyed. What can mortals hope or imagine 
which the master of this palace has not obtained ? 

" The dishes of luxury cover his table ; the voice of har- 
mony lulls him in his bowers ; he breathes the fragrance 

85 of the groves of Java, and sleeps upon the down of the 
cygnets of Ganges. He speaks, and his mandate is 
obeyed ; he wishes, and his wish is gratified ; all whom 
he sees obey him, and all whom he hears flatter him. 



EX. XXI.] EHETORICAL READING. 215 

" How different, oh Ortogrul ! is thy condition, who art 
doomed to the perpetual torments of unsatisfied desire ; 
and who hast no amusement in thy power that can with- 
hold thee from thy own reflections ! They tell thee that 
5 thou art wise ; but w^hat does wisdom avail with poverty ? 
None will flatter the poor ; and the wise have very little 
power of flattering themselves. 

" That man is surely the most wretched of the sons of 
wretchedness who lives with his own faults and follies 

10 always before him, and who has none to reconcile him to 
himself by praise and veneration. I have long sought con- 
tent, and have not found it ; I will from this moment 
endeavor to be rich." 

Full of this new resolution, he shut himself in his cham- 

15 ber for six months, to deliberate how he should grow rich. 
He sometimes purposed to offer himself as a counsellor to 
one of the kings in India, and sometimes resolved to dig 
for diamonds in the mines of Golconda. 

One day, after some hours passed in violent fluctuation 

20 of opinion, sleep insensibly seized him in his chair. He 
dreamed that he was ranging a desert country, in search 
of some one that might teach him to grow rich ; and as he 
stood on the top of a hill, shaded with cypress, in doubt 
whither to direct his steps, his father appeared on a sudden 

25 standing before him. 

" Ortogrul," said the old man, " I know thy perplexity; 
listen to thy father. Turn thine eye on the opposite moun- 
tain." Ortogrul looked, and saw a torrent tumbling down 
the rocks, roaring with the noise of thunder, and scattering 

30 its foam on the impending w^oods. " Now," said his father, 
"behold the valley that lies between the hills." Ortogrul 
looked, and espied a little well, out of which issued a small 
rivulet. " Tell me, now," said his father, " dost thou wish 
for sudden affluence, that may pour upon thee like the 

•J5 mountain torrent ; or for a slow and gradual increase, re- 
sembling the rill gliding from the well ? " 

" Let me be quickly rich," said Ortogrul ; " let the gold- 
en stream be quick and violent." " Look around thee," 
said his father, " once again." Ortogrul looked, and per- 

40 ceived the channel of the torrent dry and dusty; but fol- 
lowing the rivulet from the well, he traced it to a wide 
lake, which the supply, slow and constant, kept always 
full. He awoke, and determined to grow rich by silent 
profit, and persevering industry. 



216 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxn. 

Having sold his patrimony, he engaged in merchandise ; 
and in twenty years purchased lands, on which he raised 
a house equal in sumptuousness to that of the vizier ; to 
this mansion he invited all the ministers of pleasure, ex- 
5 pecting to enjoy all the felicity which he had imagined 
riches able to afford. Leisure soon made him weary of 
himself, and he longed to be persuaded that he was great 
and happy. He was courteous and liberal ; he gave all 
that approached him hopes of pleasing him, and all who 

10 should please him hopes of being rewarded. Every art 
of praise was tried, and every source of adulatory fiction 
was exhausted. 

Ortogrul heard his flatterers Avithout delight, because he 
found himself unable to believe them. His own heart told 

15 him its frailties ; his own understanding reproached him 
with his faults. " How long," said he, with a deep sigh, 
" have I been laboring in vain to amass wealth, which at 
last is useless ! Let no man hereafter wish to be rich, 
who is already too wise to be flattered." — Dr. Johnson, 



EXERCISE XXII. 
Summer Heat. 

20 All-conqijering Heat, oh, intermit thy wrath ! 
And on my throbbing temples potent thus 
Beam not so fierce ! incessant still you flow, 
And still another fervent flood succeeds, -^ 

Poured on the head profuse. In vain I sigh, 

25 And restless turn, and look around for night; 
Night is far off; and hotter hours approach. 
Thrice happy he, who, on the sunless side 
Of a romantic mountain, forest-crowned. 
Beneath the whole-collected shade reclines ; 

30 Or in the gelid caverns, woodbine-wrought. 

And fresh bedewed with ever-spouting streams. 
Sits coolly calm ; while all the world without, 
Unsatisfied, and sick, tosses in noon. 
Emblem instructive of the virtuous man, 

35 Who keeps his tempered mind serene and pure, 
And every passion aptly harmonized, 
Amid a jarring world with vice inflamed. 

Welcome, ye shades ! ye bowery thickets, hail 



EX. XXIIl.] RHETORICAL READING. 217 

Ye lofty pines ! ye venerable oaks ! 

Ye ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep ! 

Delicious is your shelter to the soul, 

As to the hunted hart the sallying spring, 

5 Or stream full flowing, that his swelling sides 
Laves, as he floats along the herbaged brink. 
Cool, through the nerves, your pleasing comfort glides , 
The heart beats glad ; the fresh-expanded eye 
And ear resume their watch ; the sinews knit ; 

10 And life shoots swift through all the lightened limbs. 

Thomson. 



EXERCISE XXIIL 

Omniscience and Omnipresence of the Deity, the Source of 
Consolatio7i to Good Men. 

I WAS yesterday, about sunset, \\^lking in the open 
fields, till the night insensibly fell upon me. I at first 
amused myself with all the richness and variety of colors 
which appeared in the western parts of heaven. In pro- 

15 portion as they faded away and went out, several stars 
and planets appeared, one after another, till the whole 
firmament was in a glow. 

The blueness of the ether was exceedingly heightened 
and enlivened by the season of the year, and the rays of 

20 all those luminaries that passed through it. The galaxy 
appeared in its most beautiful white. To complete the 
scene, the full moon rose, at length, in that clouded majes- 
ty which Milton takes notice of; and opened to the eye a 
new picture of nature, which was more finely shaded, and 

25 disposed among softer lights, than that which the sun had 
before discovered to me. 

As I was surveying the moon walking in her brightness, 
and taking her progress among the constellations, a thought 
arose in me, which I believe very often perplexes and dis- 

30 turbs men of serious and contemplative natures. David 
himself fell into it in that reflection : " When I consider 
the heavens, the work of thy fingers ; the moon and the 
stars which thou hast ordained ; what is man, that thou 
art mindful of him, and the son of man. that thou rcgard- 

35 est him ! " 

In the same manner, when I considered that infinite host 
of stars, or, to speak more philosophically, of suns, which 
19 



218 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxiii. 

were then shining upon me ; with those innumerable sets 
of planets or worlds, which were moving round their re- 
spective suns ; when I still enlarged the idea, and supposed 
another heaven of suns and worlds, rising still above this 

5 which I discovered ; and these still enlightened by a supe- 
rior firmament of luminaries, which are planted at so 
great a distance that they may appear to the inhabitants 
of the former as the stars do to me : in short, while I pur- 
sued this thought, I could not but reflect on that little in- 

10 significant figure which I myself bore amidst the immen- 
sity of God's works. 

Were the sun which enlightens this part of the crea- 
tion, with all the host of planetary worlds that move about 
him, utterly extinguished and annihilated, they would not 

15 be missed, more than a grain of sand upon the sea-shore. 
The space they possess is so exceeding little in compari- 
son of the whole, it would scarcely make a blank in the 
creation. The chasm would be imperceptible to an eye 
that could take in the whole compass of nature, and pass 

20 from one end of the creation to the other ; as it is possible 
there may be such a sense in ourselves hereafter, or in 
creatures which are at present more exalted than our- 
selves. 

By the help of glasses, we see many stars which we do 

25 not discover with our naked eyes ; and the finer our tele- 
scopes are, the greater still are our discoveries. 

Huygenius carries this thought so far, that he does not 
think it impossible there may be stars, whose light has not 
yet travelled down to us since their first creation. There 

30 is no question that the universe has certain bounds set to 
it; but when we consider that it is the work of Infinite 
Power, prompted by Infinite Goodness, with an infinite 
space to exert itself in, how can our imagination set any 
bounds to it ? 

35 To return, therefore, to my first thought — I could not 
but look upon myself with secret horror, as a being that 
was not worth the smallest regard of one who had so 
great a work under his care and superintendency. I was 
afraid of being overlooked amidst the immensity of nature, 

40 and lost among that infinite variety of creatures, which, 
in all probability, swarm through all these immeasurable 
regions of matter. 

In order to recover myself from this mortifying thought, 
I considered that it took its rise from those narrow con- 



EX. XXm.} RHETORICAL READING. 219 

ceptions which we are apt to entertain of the Divine 
Nature. We ourselves cannot attend to many different 
objects at the same time. If we are careful to inspect 
some things, we must of course neglect others. This im- 

5 perfection which we observe in ourselves is an imperfec- 
tion that cleaves, in some degree, to creatures of the 
highest capacities, as they are creatures ; that is, beings 
of finite and limited natures. 

The presence of every created being is confined to a 

10 certain measure of space ; and, consequently, his observa- 
tion is stinted to a certain number of objects. The sphere 
in which we move, and act, and understand, is of a wider 
circumference to one creature than another, according as 
we rise one above another in the scale of existence. But 

15 the widest of these our spheres has its circumference. 

When, therefore, we reflect on the Divine Nature, we 
are so used and accustomed to this imperfection in our- 
selves, that we cannot forbear, in some measure, ascribing 
it to Him in whom there is no shadow of imperfection. 

20 Our reason, indeed, assures us that his attributes are infi- 
nite ; but the poorness of our conceptions is such, that it 
cannot forbear setting bounds to everything it contem- 
plates, till our reason comes again to our succor, and 
throws down all those little prejudices which rise in us 

25 unawares, and are natural to the mind of man. 

We shall therefore utterly extinguish this melancholy 
thought, of our being overlooked by our Maker, in the 
multiplicity of his works, and the infinity of those objects 
among which he seems to be incessantly employed, if we 

30 consider, in the first place, that he is omnipresent ; and, 
in the second, that he is omniscient. 

If we consider him in his omnipresence, his being passes 
through, actuates, and supports, the whole frame of nature. 
His creation, in every part of it, is full of him. There is 

35 nothing he has made, which is either so distant, so little, 
or so inconsiderable, that he does not essentially reside in 
it. His substance is within the substance of every being, 
whether material or immaterial, and as intimately present 
to it as that being is to itself. 

40 It would be an imperfection in him, were he able to 
move out of one place into another ; or to withdraw him- 
self from anything he has created, or from any part of 
that space which he diffused and spread abroad to infinity. 
In short, to speak of him in the language of the old phi- 



220 Parker's exexcises in [ex. xxiv. 

losophers, he is a Being whose centre is everywhere, and 
his circumference nowhere. 

In the second place, he is omniscient as well as omni- 
present. His omniscience, indeed, necessarily and natu- 

5 rally flows from his omnipresence. He cannot but be 
conscious of every motion that arises in the whole mate- 
rial world, which he thus essentially pervades; and of 
every thought that is stirring in the intellectual world, to 
every part of which he is thus intimately united. 

10 Were the soul separated from the body, and should it 
with one glance of thought start beyond the bounds of the 
creation, — should it for millions of years continue its pro- 
gress through infinite space, with the same activity, — -it 
would still find itself within the embrace of its Creator, 

15 and encompassed by the immensity of the Godhead. 

In this consideration of the Almighty's omnipresence 
and omniscience, every uncomfortable thought vanishes. 
He cannot but regard everything that has being, especial- 
ly such of his creatures who fear they are not regarded by 

20 him. He is privy to all their thoughts, and to that anxie- 
ty of heart in particular, which is apt to trouble them on 
this occasion ; for, as it is impossible he should overlook 
any of his creatures, so we may be confident that he re- 
gards with an eye of mercy those who endeavor to recom- 

25 mend themselves to his notice, and, in an unfeigned hu- 
mility of heart, think themselves unworthy that he should 
be mindful of them. — Addison. 



EXERCISE XXIV. 

Summer Bathing. 

Cheered by the milder beam, the sprightly youth 
Speeds to the well-known pool, whose crystal depth 

30 A sandy bottom shows. A while he stands 
Gazing the inverted landscape, half afraid 
To meditate the blue profound below ; 
Then plunges headlong down the circling flood. 
His ebon tresses and his rosy cheek 

35 Instant emerge ; and, through the obedient wave, 
At each short breathing by his lip repelled, 
With arms and legs according well, he makes, 
As humor leads, an easy-winding path ; 



EX. XXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 221 

While, from his polished sides, a dewy light 

Effuses on the pleased spectators round. 
This is the purest exercise of health, 

The kind refresher of the summer heats ; 
5 Nor when cold Winter keens the brightening flood, 

Would I weak-shivering linger on the brink. 

Thus life redoubles, and is oft preserved, 

By the bold swimmer, in the swift elapse 

Of accident disastrous. 
10 Hence the limbs 

Knit into force ; and the same Roman arm, 

That rose victorious o'er the conquered earth, 

First learned, while tender, to subdue the wave. 

Even from the body's purity the mind 
15 Receives a secret, sympathetic aid. Thomson. 



EXERCISE XXV. 

Scene after a Thunder Shower. 

As from the face of heaven the shattered clouds 
Tumultuous rove, the interminable sky 
Sublimer swells, and o'er the world expands 
A purer azure. Through the lightened air 

20 A higher lustre and a clearer calm. 

Diffusive, tremble ; while, as if in sign 
Of danger past, a glittering robe of joy, 
Set off abundant by the yellow ray. 
Invests the fields ; and nature smiles revived. 

25 'T is beauty all, and grateful song around, 
Joined to the low of kine, and numerous bleat 
Of flocks thick-nibbling through the clovered vale. 
And shall the hymn be marred by thankless Man, 
Most favored ! who with voice articulate 

30 Should lead the chorus of this lower world ; 
Shall he, so soon forgetful of the Hand 
That hushed the thunder, and serenes the sky. 
Extinguished feel that spark the tempest waked, 
That sense of powers exceeding far his own, 

35 Ere yet his feeble heart has lost its fears ? Thomson. 
19# 



222 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxvi. 

EXERCISE XXVI. 

Domestic Employment. 

Since Industry is the aliment of contentment and hap- 
piness, the female sex are privileged in the variety of 
employments that solicit their attention. These are so 
diversified in their combinations of amusement with utili- 

5 ty, that no room need be left for the melancholy of a vacant 
and listless mind. 

Needle-work, in all its forms of use, elegance and orna- 
ment, has ever been the appropriate occupation of woman. 
From the shades of Eden, when its humble process was 

10 but to unite the fig-leaf, to the days when the mother of 
Sisera looked from her window, in expectation of a " prey 
of divers colors of needle-work on both sides, meet for the 
necks of those that take the spoil," down to modern times, 
when nature's pencil is rivalled by the most exquisite tis- 

15 sues of embroidery, it has been both their duty and their 
resource. While the more delicate efforts of the needle 
rank high among accomplishments, its necessary depart- 
ments are not beneath the notice of the most refined 
young lady. 

20 To keep her own wardrobe perfectly in order, to pay 
just regard to economy, and to add to the comfort of the 
poor, it will be necessary to obtain a knowledge of those 
inventions by which the various articles of apparel are re- 
paired, modified and renovated. True satisfaction, and 

25 cheerfulness of spirits, are connected with these quiet and 
congenial pursuits. 

This has been simply and fortunately expressed by one 
of our sweetest poets : — 

«' It rains. — What lady loves a rainy day ? 
She loves a rainy day, who sweeps the hearth, 
And threads the busy needle, or applies 
The scissors to the torn or thread- bare sleeve ; 
Who blesses God that she has friends and home ; 
Who, in the pehing^ of the storm, will think 
Of some poor neighbor that she can befriend ; 
Who trims the lamp at night, and reads aloud, 
To a young brother, tales he loves to hear ; 
Such are not sad even on a rainy day." 

The queen of Louis XI. of France was a pattern of 
40 industry to her sex. Surrounding herself with the daugh- 
ters of the nobility, whom she called her daughters, she 
was both their teacher and companion, in elegant works 



EX. XXVIl.] RHETORICAL READING. 223 

of embroidery and tapestry. The churches were adorned 
with these proofs of their diligence and ingenuity. She 
considered industry a remedy for a disordered imagina- 
tion, and a shield against the temptations of a fashionable 
5 life. 

Hence prudence and modesty marked the manners of 
that court, where their opposites had once prevailed, and 
the blooming and elegant train by whom she was attended 
" bore in their hearts the honor and virtue which she 

10 planted there." 

It has been sometimes urged as an objection against the 
modern system of female education, that the wide range 
of science which it comprises turns the attention of the 
young from household duty, and renders them impatient 

15 of its details and labors. This argument seems to address 
itself to mothers. It might be in their power to refute it, 
and to associate in the minds of their daughters, with a love 
of study, a knowledge of the unpretending pursuits of 
their own future province. 

20 Maternal affection would naturally prompt the wish to 
save them from the mistakes and perplexities to which 
ignorance might in future expose them. Though perhaps 
little native affinity exists between intellectual pursuits 
and household cares, they may doubtless be so united as 

25 to relieve each other ; and she will give strong proof of the 
best education and the best regulated mind, who neglects 
the fewest duties, and despises none. 

Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. 



EXERCISE XXVII. 

Dialogue from the Tragedy of King John. 

[King John instigates Hubert to assassinate Arthur Plantagenet, nephew of King John, 
and rightful heir of the crown of England, usurped by John.] 

K. John. Come hither, Hubert. 

O, my gentle Hubert, 

30 We owe thee much ; within this wall of flesh 
There is a soul counts thee her creditor, 
And with advantage means to pay thy love : 
And, my good friend, thy voluntary oath 
Lives in this bosom, dearly cherished. 

35 Give me thy hand. — — I had a thing to say — 
But I will fit it with some better time. 



224 paeker's exercises in [ex. xxvii. 

By heaven, Hubert, I am almost ashamed 
To say what good respect 1 have of thee. 

Hubert. I am much bounden to your majesty. 
K. John. Good friend, thou hast no cause to say so yet : 
5 But thou shalt have ; and creep time ne'er so slow, 

Yet it shall come, for me to do thee good. 

I had a thing to say ; but, let it go : 

The sun is in the heaven; and the proud day, 
Attended with the pleasures of the world, 

10 Is all too wanton, and too full of gawds. 

To give me audience : If the midnight bell 

Did, with his iron tongue and brazen mouth, 

Sound on unto the drowsy race of night : 

If this same were a church-yard where we stand, 

15 And thou possessed with a thousand wrongs ; 

Or, if that surly spirit, melancholy. 
Had baked thy blood, and made it heavy, thick ; 
Which else runs tickling up and down the veins, 
Making that idiot, laughter, keep men's eyes, 

20 And strain their cheeks to idle merriment, 

(A passion hateful to my purposes,) 

Or if that thou couldst see me without eyes, 
Hear me without thine ears, and make reply 
Without a tongue, using conceit alone, 

25 Without eyes, ears, and harmful sound of words ; 
Then, in despite of broad-eyed watchful day, 
I would into thy bosom pour my thoughts : 



But ah, I will not : — yet I love thee well; 



And, by my troth, I think thou lov'st me well. 
30 Hub. So well, that what you bid me undertake, 
Though that my death were adjunct to my act. 
By heaven, I would do it. 

K. John. Do not I know thou wouldst ? 

Good Hubert, Hubert, Hubert, throw thine 

85 eye 

On yon young boy : I '11 tell thee what, my friend, 

He is a very serpent in my way ; 

And wheresoe'er this foot of mine doth tread. 

He lies before me : Dost thou understand me ? 

40 Thou art his keeper. 

Hub. And I '11 keep him so, 

That he shall not offend your majesty. 

K. John. Death ! 

Hub, My lord? 



EX. XXVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 225 

K. John. A grave ! 

H2ib. He shall not live. 

K. John. Enough. 

I could be merry, now : Hubert, I love thee 

5 Well. 1 '11 not say what I intend for thee : 

Remember ! Shakspeare. 



EXERCISE XXVm. 
Scene from the Tragedy of King John. 

[Interview of Hubert with Arthur, in v/hich Hubert purposes to fulfil the murderous 
commission described in the preceding exercise, on which he was sent by King John. J 

Hubert. Heat me these irons hot ; and look thou stand 
Within the arras : when I strike my foot 
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth, 
15 And bind the boy, which you shall find with me, 
Fast to the chair : be heedful : hence, and watch. 

1 Attendant. I hope your warrant will bear out the 

deed. 
Huh. Uncleanly scruples ! Fear not you : look to 't. 

[Exeunt Attendaiits, 
20 Young lad, come forth ; I have to say with you. 
Enter Arthur. 
Arthur. Good morrow, Hubert. 
Hub. Good morrow, little prince. 

Arth. As little prince (having so great a title 
25 To be more prince) as may be. — You are sad. 
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier. 
Arth. Mercy on me ! 

Methinks nobody should be sad but I : 
Yet I remember, when I was in France, 
30 Young gentlemen would be as sad as night. 
Only for wantonness. By my Christendom, 
Sol were out of prison, and kept sheep, 
I should be merry as the day is long; 
And so I would be here, but that I doubt 
85 My uncle practises more harm to me : 
He is afraid of me, and I of him ; 
Is it my fault that I were Geoffrey's son ? 
No, indeed, is 't not ; and I would to heaven 
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert. 
40 Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate 



226 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxviii. 

He will awake my mercy, which lies dead : 

Therefore I will be sudden, and despatch. [Aside. 

Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? You look pale to-day. 
In sooth, I would you were a little sick ; 
5 That I might sit all night, and watch with you. 
I warrant, I love you more than you do me. 

Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom, — 
Read here, young Arthur. [Showing a paper.] How 
now, foolish rheum ! [Aside. 

10 Turning dispiteous torture out the door ! 
I must be brief, lest resolution drop 
Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears. 
Can you not read it ? Is it not fair writ ? 
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : 
15 Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ? 
Hub. Young boy, I must. 
Arth. And will you ? 

Hub. And I will. 

Arth. Have you the heart ? When your head did but 
20 I knit my handkerchief about your brows, [ache 

(The best I had — a princess wrought it me,) 
And I did never ask it you again : 
And with my hand at midnight held your head ; 
And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, 
25 Still and anon cheered up the heavy time ; 

Saying, What lack you? and. Where lies your grief? 
Or, What good love may I perform for you ? 
Many a poor man's son would have lain still, 
And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you ; 
30 But you at your sick service had a prince. 
Nay, you may think my love was crafty love, 
And call it cunning : do, an if you will : 
If heaven be pleased that you should use me ill, 
Why, then you must. — Will you put out mine eyes ? 
35 These eyes that never did, nor never shall, 
So much as frown on you ? 

Hub. I have sworn to do it ; 

And with hot irons must I burn them out. 

Arth. Ah, none but in this iron age would do it : 
40 The iron, of itself, though heat red-hot, 

Approaching near these eyes, would drink my tears, 
And quench its fiery indignation, 
Even in the matter of mine innocence : 
Nay, after that, consume away in rust, 



EX. XXVin.] RHETORICAL READING. 227 

But for containing fire to harm mine eyes. 
Are you more stubborn-hard than hammered iron ? 
And if an angel should have come to me, 
And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, 
5 1 would not have believed no tongue but Hubert's. 

Hub. Come forth. [Stamps. 

Reenter Attendants, with cord, irons, SfC. 
Do as I bid you do. 

Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me ! My e^^es are out, 
10 Even with the fierce looks of the bloody men. 

Hub. Give me the iron, I say, and bind him here. 
Arth. Alas ! what need you be so boisterous-rough? 
I will not struggle, I will stand stone-still. 
For heaven's sake, Hubert, let me not be bound! 
15 Nay, hear me^ Hubert ! drive these men away, 
And 1 will sit as quiet as a lamb ; 
I will not stir, nor wince, nor speak a word, 
Nor look upon the irons angerly ; 
Thrust but these men away, and I '11 forgive 3^ou, 
20 Whatever torments you do put me to. 

Hub. Go, stand within ; let me alone with him. 
1 Atten. I am best pleased to be from such a deed. 

[Exeunt Attendants 
Arth. Alas, I then have chid away my friend : 
25 He hath a stern look, but a gentle heart : — 
Let him come back, that his compassion may 
Give life to yours. 

Hub. Come, boy, prepare yourself. 

Arth. Is there no remedy ? 
30 Hub. None, but to lose your eyes. 

Arth. O heaven ! that there were but a mote in yours, 
A grain, a dust, a gnat, a wandering hair, 
Any annoyance in that precious sense ! 
Then feeling what small things are boisterous there, 
35 Your vile intent must needs seem horrible. 

Hub. Is this your promise ? Go to ; hold your tongue. 
Arth. Hubert, the utterance of a brace of tongues 
Must needs want pleading for a pair of eyes : 
Let me not hold my tongue ; let me not, Hubert ! 
40 Or, Hubert, if you will, cut out my tongue. 

So I may keep mine eyes ; O, spare mine eyes : 
Though to no use, but still to look on you ! 
Lo, by my troth, the instrument is cold, 
And would not harm me. 



228 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxix. 

Hub, I can heat it, boy. 

Arth. No, in good sooth, the fire is dead with grief, — 
. Being create for comfort — to be used 

In undeserved extremes : see else yourself: 
5 There is no malice in this burning coal ; 

The breath of heaven hath blown its spirit out, 
And strewed repentant ashes on his head. 

Hub. But with my breath I can revive it, boy. 
Arth. And if you do, you will but make it blush, 
10 And glow with shame of your proceedings, Hubert; 
Nay, it perchance will sparkle in your eyes, 
And like a dog that is compelled to fight. 
Snatch at his master that does tarre him on.=^ 
All things that you should use to do me wrong 
15 Deny their office ; only you do lack 

That mercy which fierce fire and iron extends, — 
Creatures of note, for mercy-lacking uses. 

Hub. Well, see to live ; I will not touch thine eyes. 
For all the treasure that thine uncle owes;! 
20 Yet I am sworn, and I did purpose, boy. 
With this same very iron to burn them out. 

Arth. O, now^ you look like Hubert ! all this while 
You were disguised. 

Hub. Peace: no more : adieu! — 

25 Your uncle must not know but you are dead : 
1 '11 fill these dogged spies with false reports. 
And, pretty child, sleep doubtless, and secure 
That Hubert, for the wealth of all the world, 
Will not oflfend thee. 
30 Arth. O heaven ! — I thank you, Hubert. 

Hub. Silence : no more. Go closely in with me : 
Much danger do I undergo for thee. [Exeunt. 



EXERCISE XXIX. 

Dialogue from King John, after the supposed assassination of 
Prince Arthur. 

Hubert. My lord, they say five moons were seen to- 
night : 
35 Four fixed ; and the fifth did whirl about 
The other four, in wondrous motion. 

* Set him on. t Owns. 



EX. XXIX.] RHETORICAL READmG. 229 

K. John. Five moons ? 

Hub. Old men, and beldams, in the streets 

Do prophesy upon it dangerously : 

Young Arthur's death is common in their mouths : 
5 And when they talk of him, they shake their heads. 

And whisper one another in the ear ; 

And he that speaks doth gripe the hearer's wrist ; 

Whilst he that hears makes fearful action, 

With wrinkled brows, with nods, with rolling eyes. 
10 I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus, 

The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool, 

With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news ; 

Who, with his shears and measure in his hand, 

Standing on slippers, (which his nimble haste 
15 Had falsely thrust upon contrar^^ feet,) 

Told of many thousand warlike French, 

That were embatteled and ranked in Kent : 

Another lean, unwashed artificer 

Cats off his tale, and talks of Arthur's death. 
20 K. John. Why seek'st thou to possess me ^\^th these 
fears ? 

WTiy urgest thou so oft young Arthur's death ? 

Thy hand hath murdered him : I had a mighty cause 

To wish him dead, but thou hadst none to kill him. 
25 Hub. Had none, my lord ! Why, did not you pro- 
voke me ? 
jS". John. It is the curse of kings to be attended 

By slaves, that take their humors for a warrant 

To break within the bloody house of life : 
30 And, on the winking of authority. 

To understand a law ; to know the meaning 

Of dangerous majesty, when, perchance, it frowns 

More upon humor than advised respect. 

Hub. Here is your hand and seal for what I did. 
35 K. John. Oh, when the last account 'twixt heaven and 
earth 

Is to be made, then shall this hand and seal 

Witness against us to damnation ! 

How oft the sight of means to do ill deeds 
40 Makes deeds ill done ! Hadst not thou been by, 

A fellow by the hand of nature marked. 

Quoted, and signed, to do a deed of shame. 

This murder had not come into my mind : 

But, taking note of thy abhorred aspect, 
20 



230 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxix. 

Finding thee fit for bloody villany, 

Apt, liable to be employed in danger, 

I faintly broke with thee of Arthur's death : 

And thou, to be endeared to a king, 
5 Made it no conscience to destroy a prince. 

Hub. My lord 

K. John. Hadst thou but shook thy head, or made a 

When I spake darkly what I purposed ; [pause, 

Or turned an eye of doubt upon my face, 
10 As bid me tell my tale in express words ; 

Deep shame had struck me dumb, made me break off, 

And those thy fears might have wrought fears in me : 

But thou didst understand me by my signs, 

And didst in signs again parley with sin ; 
15 Yea, without stop, didst let thy heart consent, 

And, consequently, thy rude hand to act 

The deed, which both our tongues held vile to name. 

Out of my sight, and never see me more ! 

My nobles leave me ; and my state is braved, 
20 Even at my gates, with ranks of foreign powers : 

Nay, in the body of this fleshly land. 

This kingdom, this confine of blood and breath. 

Hostility and civil tumult reigns 

Between my conscience and my cousin's death. 
25 Huh. Arm you against your other enemies ; 

1 '11 make a peace between your soul and you. 

Young Arthur is alive. This hand of mine 

Is yet a maiden and an innocent hand. 

Not painted with the crimson spots of blood. 
80 Within this bosom never entered yet 

The dreadful motion of a murderous thought, 

And you have slandered nature in my form ; 

Which, howsoever rude exteriorly. 

Is yet the cover of a fairer mind 
35 Than to be butcher of an innocent child. 

K. John. Doth Arthur live ? O, haste thee to the peers, 

Throw this report on their incensed rage. 

And make them tame to their obedience ! 

Forgive the comment that my passion made 
40 Upon thy features ; for my rage was blind, 

And foul imaginary eyes of blood 

Presented thee more hideous than thou art. 

0, answer not ; but to my closet bring 

The angry lords, with all expedient haste : 
45 I conjure thee but slowly ; run more fast. Shakspeare, 



EX. XXX.] RHETORICAL READING. 231 

EXERCISE XXX. 

Character of Addison as a Writer. 

As a describe! of life and manners, Mr. Addison must 
be allowed to stand perhaps the first in the first rank. 
His humor is peculiar to himself; and is so happily dif- 
fused, as to give the grace of novelty to domestic scenes 

5 and daily occurrences. He never oversteps the modesty 
of nature, nor raises merriment or wonder by the violation 
of truth. His figures neither divert by distortion, nor 
amaze by aggravation. He copies life with so much fidel- 
ity, that he can hardly be said to invent ; yet his exhi- 

10 bitions have an air so much original, that it is difficult to 
suppose them not merely the product of imagination. 

As a teacher of wisdom, he may be confidently followed. 
His religion has nothing in it enthusiastic or superstitious ; 
he appears neither weakly credulous nor wantonly scepti- 

15 cal ; his morality is neither dangerously lax nor implaca- 
bly rigid. All the enchantments of fancy, and all the 
cogency of argument, are employed to recommend to the 
reader his real interest, the care of pleasing the Author 
of his being. Truth is shown sometimes as the phantom 

20 of a vision, sometimes appears half-veiled in an allegory, 
sometimes attracts regard in robes of fancy, and some- 
times steps forth in the confidence of reason. She wears 
a thousand dresses, and in all is pleasing. 

His prose is the model of the middle style ; on grave 

25 subjects not formal, on light occasions not grovelling; 
pure without scrupulosity, and exact without apparent 
elaboration; always equable, and always easy, without 
glowing words or pointed sentences. His page is always 
luminous, but never blazes in unexpected splendor. 

30 It seems to have been his principal endeavor to avoid 
all harshness and severity of diction ; he is therefore some- 
times verbose in his transitions and connexions, and some- 
times descends too much to the language of conversation ; 
yet if his language had been less idiomatical, it might 

35 have lost somewhat of its genuine Anglicism. 

What he attempted he performed : he is never feeble, 
and he did not wish to be energetic ; he is never rapid, 
and he never stagnates. His sentences have neither 
studied amplitude nor aflfected brevity ; his periods, though 

40 not diligently rounded, are voluble and easy. Whoever 
wishes to attain an English style, familiar but not coarse, 



232 Parker's exercises m [ex. xxxi. 

and elegant but not ostentatious, must give his days and 
nights to the volumes of Addison. — Dr. Johnson. 



EXERCISE XXXI. 
Elegy written in a Country Church-yard. 

The curfew tolls the knell of parting day ; 

The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea ; 
5 The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, 

And leaves the world to darkness and to me. 

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, 

And all the air a solemn stillness holds ; 

Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, 
10 And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds. 
Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower, 

The moping owl does to the moon complain 

Of such as, wandering near her secret bower. 

Molest her ancient solitary reign. 
15 Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 

Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, 

Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, 
20 The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, 

The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn. 

No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. 
For them no more the blazing hearth shall bum, 

Nor busy housewife ply her evening care ; 
25 No children run to lisp their sire's return. 

Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. 
Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield ; 

Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke ; 

How jocund did they drive their team afield ! 

30 How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke ! 

Let not Ambition mock their useful toil. 

Their homely joys and destiny obscure ; 

Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile. 

The short and simple annals of the poor. 
35 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power. 

And all that beauty, all that wealth, e'er gave, 

Await, alike, the inevitable hour; — 

The paths of glory lead bat to the grave. 



EX. XXXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 233 

Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the i'aiilt, 
If memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, 
Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, 
The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
5 Can storied urn, or animated bust. 

Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath ? 

Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust. 

Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of death ? 

Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid 
10 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; 

Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
Eich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll ; 
15 Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, 
And froze the genial current of the soul. 

Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 
The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear ; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
20 And waste its sweetness on the desert air. 

Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 
Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest ; 
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 
25 The applause of listening senates to command, 
The threats of pain and ruin to despise, 
To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, 
And read their history in a nation's eyes, 

Their lot forbade : nor circumscribed alone 
30 Their growing virtues, but their crimes confined ; — 
Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, 
And shut the gates of mercy on mankind; 

The struggling pangs of conscious Truth to hide, 
To quench the blushes of ingenuous Shame ; 
35 Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride 
With incense kindled at the muse's flame. 

Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife. 
Their sober wishes never learned to stray : 
Along the cool, sequestered vale of life 
40 They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. 

Yet even these bones from insult to protect, 
Some frail memorial, still erected nigh. 
With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked 
Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. 
20=^ 



234 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxi. 

Their names, their years, spelled by the unlettered Muse, 
The place of fame and elegy supply ; 
And many a holy text around she strews. 
That teach the rustic moralist to die. 
5 For who, to dumb forgetfulness a prey, 

This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned ; — ' 
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, — 
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind ? 

On some fond breast the parting soul relies ; 
10 Some pious drops the closing eye requires : 

Even from the tomb the voice of Nature cries ; 
Even in our ashes live their wonted fires. 

For thee, who, mindful of the unhonored dead, 
Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 
15 If, chance, by lonely contemplation led, 
Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate. 

Haply, some hoary-headed swain may say, 
" Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn. 
Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away, 
20 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. 

" There, at the foot of yonder nodding beech. 
That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high. 
His listless length at noontide would he stretch, 
And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 
25 " Hard by yon wood, now smiling, as in scorn. 
Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 
Now drooping, woful wan, like one forlorn, 
Or crazed with care, or crossed with hopeless love. 

" One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill, 
30 Along the heath, and near his favorite tree ; 
Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood, was he : 

" The next, with dirges due, in sad array, 
Slow through the church-way path we saw him borne. 
25 Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay, 
Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 

EPITAPH. 

Here rests his head upon the lap of earth, 
A youth, to fortune and to fame unknown : 
Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, 
40 And Melancholy marked him for her own. 

Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere ; 
Heaven did a recompense as largely send : — 



EX. XXXII.] RHETORICAL READING. 235 

He gave to misery all he had, — a tear ; 

He gained from Heaven — 'tw^as all he wished — a friend. 

No further seek his merit to disclose, 
Nor draw his frailties from their dread abode, — 
5 (There they, alike, in trembling hope, repose,) 
The bosom of his father and his God. Gray. 



EXERCISE XXXn. 

Filial Reverence. 

The present state of manners, though not the best pos- 
sible, has one advantage over that which preceded it : — it 
is more favorable to a confidential intercourse between chil- 

10 dren and parents than was the starched demeanor of our 
forefathers ; but there might be a much greater infusion 
of respect, without any diminution of confidence. 

Filial love, indeed, can never exist in perfection, unless 
it be founded on a deep sentiment of reverence ; and where 

15 that has not been well cultivated in childhood, it is soon 
frittered entirely away, by habitual indulgence in disre- 
spect, flippancy, or rude familiarity. 

The sentiment of reverence is one of the noblest attri- 
butes of the human mind : to its exercise God has affixed 

20 an exquisite sense of enjoyment ; it operates, in a thou- 
sand ways, to elevate and embellish the character. Its 
first development is in the feelings of a child for its pa- 
rents ; and this is the natural preparation of the mind for 
its rise to a higher object, even to the Father in heaven. 

25 As the understanding ripens, and this sentiment is cul- 
tivated, it embraces all that is great and good among men, 
all that is vast and magnificent in nature and in art ; shed- 
ding over the character of its possessor an indescribable 
grace, softening the very tones of the voice, and rendering 

30 it impossible for the manners to be wanting in deference 
and courtesy towards parents, or teachers, or the aged of 
any description. 

Where the sentiment of reverence is deficient, a found- 
ation is wanting for many graceful superstructures ; and 

35 the defect shows itself in various ways, of which the ir- 
reverent are little aware ; or they would endeavor to sup- 
ply the deficiency, as a mere matter of taste, if not of 
principle. Such persons will have unpleasant manners, 



236 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxn. 

which no rules of good-breeding will correct ; and as the 
irreverent state of feeling grows by indulgence in disre- 
spectful demeanor, they are in danger of becoming bold, 
reckless, and even impious. 

5 You whom I address are yet young; whatever may 
have been your education, you are yet young enough to 
reeducate yourselves ; you have hearts capable of being 
touched by the beautiful, the true, the sublime. You feel 
reverence for God and the things that belong to religion ; 

10 but you have not, perhaps, considered how the same sen- 
timent is connected with other relations in life. 

In all the great moral authors whom you have read, 
you have found filial piety, and reverence for the aged, 
treated as indispensable qualities in a virtuous character, 

15 whether heathen or Christian ; but you may never have 
reflected on the indications which you give of the want 
of it in your own. If, then, your conscience tells you 
that you are guilty of those faults of manner which I 
have described as but too common in our society, you may 

20 be sure that your feelings of reverence need quickening 
and cultivating ; and if you would escape becoming the 
harsh, ungraceful character, which grows out of such de- 
linquency, you must reform your manners. 

It is to be feared that some young ladies think them- 

25 selves excused from the duty of filial reverence, because 
they are more highly educated than their parents ; they 
have more knowledge, more refinement; and therefore 
they may dictate, contradict, and set up their judgments 
in opposition to their fathers' and mothers' ! But this is a 

30 great mistake : no superiority of culture can change the 
relation of child and parent, or annul the duties that grow 
out of it. 

The better your education has been, the more cause for 
gratitude to those who have procured for you this blessing; 

35 the higher the culture, the more you are bound to perform 
well all the duties of life ; the greater your refinement, 
the more perfect should be your manners towards your 
parents ; the more your influence is needed in the family, 
the more important it is that you should not impair it, by 

40 such faults as the uneducated can judge of, as well as the 
most cultivated. There is, besides, a great meanness in 
turning against your parents the weapons which their 
kindness has put into your hands. 

The acquirements of their children often make parents 



EX. XXXIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 237 

feel their own deficiencies very painfully ; and nothing but 
the most respectful behavior, on the part of the offspring, 
can lessen the mortification, and convince them that, apart 
from all such adventitious circumstances, they have unde- 

5 niable claims to the love and reverence of their children. 

Nothing can justify the want of respect, in the manners 

of children to parents, of pupils to teachers, of the young 

to the aged ; not even faults of character in the individuals 

claiming such deference and regard. It is due to yourself 

10 to treat the relation with respect ; and the more perfectly 
proper your manners are, the greater will be your influence. 
There is nothing, in the whole circle of domestic rela- 
tions, so lovely, so pure, so honorable to both parties, as 
the respectful, affectionate, and confidential intercourse of 

15 some young women with their parents. — Mrs. Farrar. 



EXERCISE XXXni. 
Autumn. 

When the bright Virgin gives the beauteous days, 
And Libra weighs in equal scales the year ; 
From heaven's high cope the fierce effulgence shook 
Of parting Summer, a serener blue, 

20 With golden light enlivened, wide invests 
The happy world. Attempered suns arise. 
Sweet-beamed, and shedding oft through lucid clouds 
A pleasing calm ; while broad, and brown, below 
Extensive harvests hang the heavy head. 

25 Rich, silent, deep, they stand ; for not a gale 
Rolls its light billows o'er the bending plain: 
A calm of plenty ! till the ruffled air 
Falls from its poise, and gives the breeze to blow. 
Rent is the fleecy mantle of the sky ; 

30 The clouds fly different ; and the sudden sun 
By fits effulgent gilds the illumined field, 
And black by fits the shadows sweep along. 
A gayly-checkered, heart-expanding view, 
Far as the circling eye can shoot around, 

35 Unbounded tossing in a flood of corn. 

These are thy blessings. Industry! rough power! 
Whom labor still attends, and sweat, and pain; 
Yet the kind source of every gentle art, 



238 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxm. 

And all the soft civility of life ; 

Raiser of human kind ! by Nature cast, 

Naked and helpless, out amid the woods 

And wilds, to rude, inclement elements ; 
5 With various seeds of art deep in the mind 

Implanted, and profusely poured around 

Materials infinite ; but idle all. 

Still unexerted, in the unconscious breast, 

Slept the lethargic powers ; corruption still, 
10 Voracious, swallowed what the liberal hand 

Of bounty scattered o'er the savage year * 

And still the sad barbarian, roving, mixed 

With beasts of prey ; or for his acorn-meal 

Fought the fierce tusky boar ; a shivering wretch ! 
15 Aghast and comfortless, when the bleak north. 

With Winter charged, let the mixed tempest fly, 

Hail, rain and snow, and bitter-breathing frost : 

Then to the shelter of the hut he fled ; 

And the wild season, sordid, pined away. 
20 For home he had not ; home is the resort 

Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty ; where 

Supporting and supported, polished friends 

And dear relations mingle into bliss. 
Bvt this the rugged savage never felt, 
25 E'en desolate in crowds ; and thus his days 

Rolled heavy, dark, and unenjoyed along : 

A waste of time ! till Industry approached, 

And roused him from his miserable sloth ; 

His faculties unfolded ; pointed out 
30 Where lavish Nature the directing hand 

Of Art demanded ; showed him how to raise 

His feeble force by the mechanic powers, 

To dig the mineral from the vaulted earth ; 
On what to turn the piercing rage of fire ; 
35 On what the torrent, and the gathered blast ; 

Gave the tall ancient forest to his axe ; 

Taught him to chip the wood, and hew the stone, 

Till by degrees the finished fabric rose ; 

Tore from his limbs the blood-polluted fur, 
40 And wrapped them in the woolly vestment warm, 

Or bright in glossy silk and flowing lawn ; 

With wholesome viands filled his table ; poured 

The generous glass around, inspired to wake 

The life-refining soul of decent wit ; 



EX. XXXIV.] RHETORICAL READING. 239 

Nor stopped at barren bare necessity ; 
But still advancing bolder, led him on 
To pomp, to pleasure, elegance and grace ; 
And, breathing high ambition through his soul, 
5 Set science, wisdom, glory, in his view, 

And bade him be the lord of all below. Thomson, 



EXERCISE XXXIV. 

The First and the Last Dinner. 

Tv^TELVE friends, much about the same age, and fixed by 
their pursuits, their family connexions, and other local 
interests, as permanent inhabitants of the metropolis, 

10 agreed, one day, when they were drinking wine at the 
Star and Garter at Richmond, to institute an annual din- 
ner among themselves, under the following regulations : 
That they should dine alternately at each others' houses 
on the first and last day of the year ; and the first bottle 

15 of wine uncorked at the first dinner should be recorked 
and put away, to be drank by him who should be the last 
of their number : that they should never admit a new mem- 
ber ; that, when one died, eleven should meet, and when 
another died ten should meet, and so on ; and when only 

20 one remained, he should, on these two days, dine by him- 
self, and sit the usual hours at his solitary table ; but 
the first time he had so dined, lest it should be the only 
one, he should then uncork the first bottle, and in the first 
glass drink to the memory of all who were gone. 

25 Some thirty years had now glided away, and only ten 
remained ; but the stealing hand of time had written sun- 
dry changes in most legible characters. Raven locks had 
become grizzled ; two or three heads had not as many 
locks as may be reckoned in a walk of half a mile along 

30 the Regent's Canal; one was actually covered with a 
brown wig ; the crow's feet were visible in the corner of the 
eye ; good old port and warm Madeira carried it against 
hock, claret, red Burgundy, and champaigne ; stews, hash- 
es and ragouts, grew into favor ; crusts were rarely called 

35 for to relish the cheese after dinner ; conversation was less 
boisterous, and it turned chiefly upon politics and the state 
of the funds, or the value of landed property ; apologies 
were made for coming in thick shoes and warm stockings ; 



240 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [EX. XXXIV. 

the doors and windows were more carefully provided with 
list and sand-bags ; the fire is in more request ; and a quiet 
game of whist filled up the hours that were wont to be 
devoted to drinking, singing, and riotous merriment. 
5 Two rubbers, a cup of coffee, and at home by eleven 
o'clock, was the usual cry, when the fifth or sixth glass 
had gone round after the removal of the cloth. At parting, 
too, there was now a long ceremony in the hall — button- 
ing up great coats, tying on woollen comforters, fixing silk 

10 handkerchiefs over the mouth and up to the ears, and 
grasping sturdy walking-canes to support unsteady feet. 

Their fiftieth anniversary came, and death had indeed 
been busy. Four little old men, of withered appearance 
and decrepit walk, with cracked voices, and dim, rayless 

15 eyes, sat down, by the mercy of Heaven, (as they tremu- 
lously declared,) to celebrate, for the fiftieth time, the first 
day of the year — to observe the frolic compact, which, 
half a century before, they had entered into at the Star 
and Garter at Richmond. Eight were in their graves ! 

20 The four that remained stood upon its confines. 

Yet they chirped cheerily over their glass, though they 
could scarcely carry it to their lips, if more than half full ; 
and cracked their jokes, though they articulated their 
words with difficulty, and heard each other with still 

25 greater difficulty. They mumbled, they chattered, they 

laughed, (if a sort of strangled wheezing might be called 

. a laugh,) and as the wine sent their icy blood in warmer 

pulses through their veins, they talked of their past as if 

it were but a yesterday that had slipped by them ; and of 

30 their future as if it were a busy century that lay before 
them. 

At length came the last dinner ; and the survivor of 
the twelve, upon whose head fourscore and ten winters 
had showered their snow, ate his solitary meal. It so 

35 chanced that it was in his house, and at his table, they 

celebrated the first. In his cellar, too, had remained, for 

more than fifty years, the bottle they had then uncorked, 

recorked, and which he was that day to uncork again. 

It stood beside him. With a feeble and reluctant grasp, 

40 he took the " frail memorial " of a youthful vow, and for a 
moment memory was faithful to her office. She threw 
open the long vista of buried years ; and his heart travelled 
through them all. Their lusty and blithesome spring, — 
their bright and fervid summer, — their ripe and temperate 



EX. XXXV.J RHETORICAL READING. 241 

autumn, — their chill, but not too frozen winter. He saw, 
as in a mirror, one by one, the laug-hing companions of 
that merry hour at Richmond had dropped into eternity. 
He felt the loneliness of his condition, (for he had eschewed 
5 marriage, and in the veins of no living creature ran a drop 
of blood whose source was in his own,) and as he drained 
the glass which he had filled, " to the memory of those 
who were gone," the tears slowly trickled down the deep 
furrows of his aged face. 

10 He had thus fulfilled one part of his vow ; and he pre- 
pared himself to discharge the other, by sitting the usual 
number of hours at his desolate table. With a heavy 
heart he resigned himself to the gloom of his own thoughts ; 
a lethargic sleep stole over him — his head fell upon his 

15 bosom — confused images crowded into his mind — he bab- 
bled to himself — was silent — and when his servant en- 
tered the room, alarmed by a noise which he heard, he 
found his master stretched upon the carpet at the foot of 
the easy-chair, out of which he had slipped in an apoplec- 

20 tic fit. He never spoke again, nor once opened his eyes, 
though the vital spark was not extinct till the following 
day. And this was the last dinner. — Anonymous. 



EXERCISE XXXV. 

Day. — A Pastoral, in three parts, 

MORNING. 

In the barn the tenant cock, 
Close to Partlett perched on high, 
25 Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock !) 

Jocund that the morn is nigh. 

Swiftly from the mountain's brow 
Shadows, nursed by night, retire ; 
And the peeping sunbeam, now, 
30 Paints with gold the village spire. 

Philomel forsakes the thorn, 
Plaintive where she prates at night ; 
And the lark, to meet the morn, 
Soars beyond the shepherd's sight. 
35 From the low-roofed cottage ridge. 

See the chattering swallow spring ; 
21 



242 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxv. 

Darting through the one arched bridge, 
Quick she dips her dappled wing. 
Now the pine-tree's waving top 
Gently greets the morning gale ; 
5 Kidlings now begin to crop 

Daisies on the dewy dale. 

From the balmy sweets, uncloyed, 
(Kestless till her task be done,) 
Now the busy bee 's employed 
10 Sipping dew before the sun. 

Trickling through the creviced rock, 
Where the limpid stream distils, 
Sweet refreshment waits the flock, 
When 't is sun-drove from the hills. 
15 Colin 's for the promised corn 

(Ere the harvest hopes are ripe) 
Anxious ; while the huntsman's horn, 
Boldly sounding, drowns his pipe. 

Sweet ! oh sweet, the warbling throng", 
20 On the white emblossomed spray! 

Nature's universal song 
Echoes to the rising day. 

NOON. 

Fervid on the glittering flood 
Now the noontide radiance glows ; 
25 Drooping o'er its infant bud. 

Not a dew-drop 's left the rose. 

By the brook the shepherd dines, 
From the fierce meridian heat 
Sheltered by the branching pines, 
30 Pendant o'er his grassy seat. 

Now the flock forsakes the glade, 
Where unchecked the sunbeams fall, 
Sure to find a pleasing shade 
By the ivied abbey wall. 
35 Echo, in her airy round, 

O'er the river, rock and hill. 
Cannot catch a single sound. 
Save the clack of yonder mill. 

Cattle court the zephyrs bland, 
40 Where the streamlet wanders cool, 

Or with languid silence stand 
I\Iidway in the marshy pool. 



EX. XXXV.J RHETORICAL READING. 243 

But from mountain, dell, or stream, 
Not a fluttering zephyr springs ; 
Fearful lest the noontide beam 
Scorch its soft, its silken wings. 
5 Not a leaf has leave to stir, 

Nature 's lulled, serene and still; 
Quiet e'en the shepherd's cur, 
Sleeping on the heath-clad hill. 

Languid is the landscape round, 
10 Till the fresh descending shower. 

Grateful to the thirsty ground, 
-Raises every fainting flower. 

Now the hill, the hedge, are green, 
Now the warblers' throats in tune ; 
15 Blithesome is the verdant scene, 

Brightened by the beams of noon ! 

EVENING. 

O'er the heath the heifer strays 
Free (the furrowed task is done ;) 
Now the village windows blaze, 
20 Burnished by the setting sun. 

Now he sets behind the hill. 
Sinking from a golden sky : 
Can the pencil's mimic skill 
Copy the refulgent dye ? 
25 Trudging as the ploughmen go, 

(To the smoking hamlet bound,) 
Giant-like their shadows grow, 
Lengthened o'er the level ground. 

Where the rising forest spreads 
30 Shelter for the lordly dome. 

To their high-built airy beds, 
See- the rooks returning home ! 

As the lark, with varied tune, 
Carols to the evening loud, 
35 Mark the mild resplendent moon, 

Breaking through a parted cloud ! 

Now the hermit owlet peeps 
From the barn or twisted brake, 
And the blue mist slowly creeps, 
40 Curling on the silver lake. 

As the trout, in speckled pride, 
Playful from its bosom springs, 



244 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxvi. 

To the banks a ruffled tide 
Verges in successive rings. 

Tripping through the silken grass, 
O'er the path-divided dale, 
6 Mark the rose-complexioned lass 

With her well-poised milking-pail ! 
Linnets with unnumbered notes, 
And the cuckoo bird with two, 
Tuning sweet their mellow throats, 
10 Bid the setting sun adieu. — Cunningham. 



EXERCISE XXXVI. 

Little Paul Dombey^s Introduction into a Select Fashimiable 
School. 

Doctor Blimber's establishment was a great hot-house, 
in which there was a forcing apparatus incessantly at work. 
All the boys blew before their time. No matter what a 
young gentleman was intended to bear, Doctor Blimber 

15 made him bear to pattern, somehow or other. This was 
all very pleasant and ingenious, but the system of forcing 
was attended with its usual disadvantages. There was 
not the right taste about the premature productions, and 
they did n't keep well. 

20 The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of black, 
with strings at his knees, and stockings below them. He 
had a bald head, highly polished; a deep voice; and a 
chin so very double, that it was a wonder how he ever 
managed to shave into the creases. He had likewise a 

25 pair of little eyes that were always half shut up, and a 
mouth that was always half expanded into a grin, as if he 
had, that moment, posed a boy, and were waiting to convict 
him from his own lips. 

The Doctor's was a mighty fine house, fronting the sea. 

30 Not a joyful style of house within, but quite the contrary. 
Sad-colored curtains, w^hose proportions were spare and 
lean, hid themselves despondently behind the windows. 
The tables and chairs were put away in rows, like figures 
in a sum ; fires were so rarely lighted in the rooms of 

35 ceremony, that they felt Hke wells, and a visitor represented 
the bucket ; the dining-room seemed the last place in the 
world where any eating or drinking was likely to occur ; 



EX. XXXVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 2-15 

there was no sound through all the house but the ticking 
of a great clock in the hall, which made itself audible in 
the very garrets ; and sometimes a dull crying of young 
gentlemen at their lessons, like the murmurings of an as- 
5 semblage of melancholy pigeons. 

Miss Blimber, too, although a slim and graceful maid, 
did no soft violence to the gravity of the house. There 
was no light nonsense about Miss Blimber. She kept her 
hair short and crisp, and wore spectacles. She was dry 

10 and sandy with working in the graves of deceased lan- 
guages. None of your live languages for Miss Blimber. 
They must be dead — stone dead, — and then Miss Blim- 
ber dug them up like a Ghoule. 

Mrs. Bhmber, her mamma, was not learned herself, but 

15 she pretended to be, and that did quite as well. She said 
at evening parties, that if she could have known Cicero, 
she thought she could have died contented. It was the 
steady joy of her life to see the Doctor's young gentlemen 
go out walking, unlike all other young gentlemen, in the 

20 largest possible shirt collars, and the stiffest possible cravats. 
It was so classical, she said. 

As to Mr. Feeder, B.A., Doctor Blimber's assistant, he 
was a kind of human barrel-organ, with a little list of tunes 
at which he was continually working, over and over again, 

25 without any variation. He might have been fitted up with 
a change of barrels, perhaps, in early life, if his destiny 
had been favorable ; but it had not been ; and he had only 
one, with which, in a monotonous round, it was his occu- 
pation to bewilder the young ideas of Doctor Blimber's 

30 young gentlemen. 

The yoang gentlemen were prematurely full of carking 
anxieties. They knew no rest from the pursuit of stony- 
hearted verbs, savage noun-substantives, inflexible syntactic 
passages, and ghosts of exercises that appeared to them in 

35 their dreams. 

Under the forcing system, a young gentleman usually 
took leave of his spirits in three weeks. He had all the 
cares of the world on his head in three months. He con- 
ceived bitter sentiments against his parents or guardians, 

40 in four ; he was an old misanthrope, in five ; envied Quin- 
tius Curtius that blessed refuge in the earth, in six ; and 
at the end of the first twelvemonth had arrived at the con- 
clusion, from which he never afterwards departed, that all 
the fancies of the poets, and lessons of the sages, were a 
21^ 



246 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxvi. 

mere collection of words and grammar, and had no other 
meaning in the world. But he went on, blow, blow, blow- 
ing, in the Doctor's hot-house, all the time; and the Doctor's 
glory and reputation were great, when he took his wintry 
5 growth home to his relations and friends. 

Upon the Doctor's door-steps, one day, Paul Dombey 
stood with a fluttering heart, and with his small right hand 
in his father's. " Now, Paul," said Mr. Dombey, exuUingly. 
" This is the way indeed to be Dombey and Son, and have 

10 money. You are alm^ost a man already." — "Almost," 
returned the child. Even his childish agitation could not 
master the sly and quaint yet touching look, with which 
he accompanied the reply. It brought a vague expression 
of dissatisfaction into Mr. Dombey's face; but the door 

15 being opened, it was quickly gone. 

" Doctor Blimber is at home, I believe ? " said Mr. Dom- 
bey. The man said yes ; and as they passed in, looked 
at Paul as if he were a little mouse, and the house were a 
trap. 

20 The Doctor was sitting in his portentous study, with a 
globe at each knee, books all round him. Homer over the 
door, and Minerva on the mantel-shelf. " And how do you 
do, sir," he said to Mr. Dombey, " and how is my little 
friend ? " Grave as an organ was the Doctor's speech ; 

25 and when he ceased, the great clock in the hall seemed (to 
Paul at least) to take him up, and to go on saying, "how, 
is, my, lit, tie, friend, how, is, my, lit, tie, friend," over and 
over and over again. 

The little friend being something too small to be seen at 

30 all from where the Doctor sat, over the books on his table, 
the Doctor made several futile attempts to get a view of 
him round the legs; which Mr. Dombey perceiving, re- 
lieved the Doctor from his embarrassment by taking Paul 
up in his arms, and sitting him on another little table over 

35 against the Doctor, in the middle of the room. 

" Ha ! " said the Doctor, leaning back in his chair, with 
his hand in his breast. "Now I see my little friend. 
How do you do, my little friend?" The clock in the hall 
would n't subscribe to this alteration in the form of words, 

40 but continued to repeat, " how, is, my, lit, tie, friend, how, 
is, my, lit, tie, friend I " " Very well, I thank you, sir," 
returned Paul, answering the clock quite as much as the 
Doctor. 

" Ha ! " said Dr. Blimber. " Shall we make a man of 



EX. XXXVl. RHETORICAL READING. 247 

him ? " — " Do you hear, Paul," added Mr. Dombey ; Paul 
being silent. — " Shall we make a man of him ?" repeated 
the Doctor. — "I had rather be a child," replied Paul. — 
" Indeed ! " said the Doctor. " Why ?" 
5 The child sat on the table looking at him, with a curious 
expression of suppressed emotion in his face, and beating 
one hand proudly on his knee, as if he had the rising tears 
beneath it, and crushed them. But his other hand strayed 
a little way the while, a little further — further from him 

10 yet — until it lighted on the neck of Florence. " This is 
why," it seemed to say, and then the steady look was 
broken up and gone ; the working lip was loosened ; and 
the tears came streaming forth. " Never mind," said the 
Doctor, blandly nodding his head. " Ne-ver mind ; we 

15 shall substitute new cares and new impressions, Mr. Dom- 
bey, very shortly. You would still wish my little friend 
to acquire — " — "Everything, if you please. Doctor," 
returned Mr. Dombey, firmly. 

" Yes," said the Doctor, who, with his half-shut eyes, 

20 and his usual smile, seemed to survey Paul with the sort 
of interest that might attach to some choice little animal 
he was going to stuiF. " Yes, exactly. Ha ! We shall 
impart a great variety of information to our little friend, 
and bring him quickly forward, I dare say. I dare say. 

25 Quite a virgin soil, I believe you said, Mr. Dombey ? " 

" Except some ordinary preparation at home, and from 
this lady," replied Mr. Dombey, introducing Mrs. Pipchin, 
who instantly communicated a rigidity to her whole mus- 
cular system, and snorted defiance beforehand, in case the 

30 Doctor should disparage her ; " except so far, Paul has, as 
yet, applied himself to no studies at all." 

Dr. Blimber inclined his head, in gentle tolerance of such 
insignificant poaching as Mrs. Pipchin's, and said he was 
glad to hear it. It was much more satisfactory, he observed, 

35 rubbing his hands, to begin at the foundation. And again 
he leered at Paul, as if he would have liked to tackle him 
with the Greek alphabet on the spot. 

'' That circumstance, indeed. Doctor Blimber," pursued 
Mr. Dombey, glancing at his little son, " and the interview 

40 I have already had the pleasure of holding with yon, ren- 
ders any further explanation, and consequently any further 
intrusion on your valuable time, so unnecessary, that — " 
" Permit me," said the Doctor, " one moment. Allow me 
to present Mrs.. Blimber and my daughter, who wiU be 



248 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxvi. 

associated with the domestic life of our young pilgrim to 
Parnassus." 

" Mrs. Blimber," for the lady, who had perhaps been in 
waiting, opportunely entered, followed by her daughter, 
5 that fair Sexton in spectacles, " Mr. Dombey. My daugh- 
ter Cornelia, Mr. Dombey. Mr. Dombey, my love," pur- 
sued the Doctor, turning to his wife, " is so confiding as 
to — do you see our little friend ? " Mrs. Blimber, in an 
excess of politeness, of which Mr. Dombey was the object, 

10 apparently did not, for she was backing against the little 
friend, and very much endangering his position on the 
table. But, on this hint, she turned to admire his classical 
and intellectual lineaments, and turning again to Mr. 
Dombey, said, with a sigh, that she envied his dear son. 

15 " Like a bee, sir," said Mrs. Blimber, with uplifted eyes, 
" about to plunge into a garden of the choicest flowers, and 
sip the sweets for the first time. Virgil, Horace, Ovid, 
Terence, Plautus, Cicero. What a world of honey have 
we here ! It may appear remarkable, Mr. Dombey, in one 

20 who is a wife — the wife of such a husband — " — " Hush, 
hush ! " said Doctor Blimber. " Fie, for shame ! " — " Mr. 
Dombey v^^ill forgive the partiality of a wife," said Mrs. 
Blimber, with an engaging smile. Mr. Dombey answered 
" Not at all : " applying those words, it is to be presumed, 

25 t6 the partiality, and not to the forgiveness. 

" And it may seem remarkable in one who is a mother, 
also," resumed Mrs. Blimber. — " And such a mother," ob- 
served Mr. Dombey, bowing, with some confused idea of 
being complimentary to Cornelia. — " But really," pursued 

80 Mrs. Blimber, " I think if I could have known Cicero, and 
been his friend, and talked with him in his retirement at 
Tusculum, (beau-ti-ful Tusculum !) I could have died con- 
tented." 

A learned enthusiasm is so very contagious, that Mr. 

35 Dombey half believed that this was exactly his case ; and 
even Mrs. Pipchin, who was not, as we have seen, of an 
accommodating disposition generally, gave utterance to a 
little sound between a groan and a sigh, as if she would 
have said that nobody but Cicero could have proved a last- 

40 ing consolation under that failure of the Peruvian mines, 
but that he indeed would have been a very Davy-lamp of 
refuge. 

Cornelia looked at Mr. Dombey through her spectacles, 
as if she would have liked to crack p. few quotations with 



EX. XXXVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 249 

him from the authority in question. But this design, if 
she entertained it, was frustrated by a knock at the room- 
door. " Who is that ? " said the Doctor. " Oh ! come in, 
Toots ; come in. Mr. Dombey, sir." Toots bowed. 
5 "Quite a coincidence!" said Doctor Blimber. " Here we 
have the beginning and the end. Alpha and Omega. 
Our head boy, Mr. Dom.bey." 

The Doctor might have called him their head and 
shoulders boy, for he was at least that much taller than 

10 any of the rest. He blushed very much at finding himself 
among strangers, and chuckled aloud. " An addition to 
our little Portico, Toots," said the Doctor ; " Mr. Dombey's 
son." Young Toots blushed again ; and finding, from a 
solemn silence which prevailed, that he was expected to 

15 say something, said to Paul, " How are you ? " in a voice 
so deep, and a manner so sheepish, that if a lamb had 
roared it could n't have been more surprising. 

" Ask Mr. Feeder, if you please. Toots," said the Doctor, 
"to prepare a few introductory volumes for Mr. Dombey's 

20 son, and to allot him a convenient seat for study. My dear, 
I believe Mr. Dombey has not seen the dormitories." — " If 
Mr. Dombey will walk up stairs," said Mrs. Blimber, " I 
shall be more than proud to show him the dominions of 
the drowsy god." With that, Mrs, Blim.ber, v/ho was a 

25 lady of great suavity, and a wiry figure, and who wore a 
cap composed of sky-blue materials, proceeded up stairs 
with Mr. Dombey and Cornelia. 

While they were gone, Paul sat upon the table, holding 
Florence by the hand, and glancing timidly from the Doc- 

30 tor round and round the room, while the Doctor, leaning 
back in his chair, with his hand in his breast as usual, held 
a book from him at arm's length, and read. There was 
something very awful in this manner of reading. It was 
such a determined, unimpassioned, inflexible, cold-blooded 

85 way of going to work. It left the Doctor's countenance 
exposed to view : and when the Doctor smiled auspiciously 
at his author, or knit his brows, or shook his head and 
made wry faces at him, as much as to say, " Don't tell me, 
sir ! I know better," it was terrific. 

40 Toots, too, had no business to be outside the door, osten- 
tatiously examining the wheels in'his watch, and counting 
his half-crowns. But that did n't last long; for Dr. Blim- 
ber happening to change the position of his tight plump 
legs,. as if he were going to get up, Toots swiftly vanished, 



250 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxvi. 

and appeared no more. Mr. Dombey and his conductress 
were soon heard coming down stairs again, talking all the 
way ; and presently they reentered the Doctor's study. 
"I hope, Mr. Dombey," said the Doctor, laying down 

5 his book, " that the arrangements meet your approval." — 
" They are excellent, sir," said Mr. Dombey. " I think 
I have now given all the trouble I need, and may take 
my leave. Paul, my child," — he went close to him as he 
sat upon the table. " Good-bye." — " Good-bye, papa." 

10 " I shall see you soon, Paul. You are free on Satur- 
days and Sundays, you know." — "Yes, papa," returned 
Paul, looking at his sister. " On Saturdays and Sun- 
days." — " And you '11 try and learn a great deal here, and 
be a clever man," said Mr. Dombey ; " won't you ? " — "I '11 

15 try," returned the child, wearily. — "And you'll soon be 
grown up, now ! " said Mr. Dombey. — " Oh ! very soon ! " 
replied the child. 

After patting him on the head, and pressing his small 
hand again, Mr. Dombey took leave of Dr. Blimber, Mrs. 

20 Blimber, and Miss Blimber, with his usual polite frigidity, 
and walked out of the study. 

Despite his entreaty that they would not think of stir- 
ring. Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber all 
pressed forward to attend him to the hall ; and thus Mrs. 

25 Pipchin got into a state of entanglement with Miss Blim- 
ber and the Doctor, and was crowded out of the study 
before she could clutch Florence. To which happy acci- 
dent Paul stood afterwards indebted for the dear remem- 
brance, that Florence ran back to throw her arms round 

30 his neck, and that hers was the last face in the doorway : 
turned towards him with a smile of encouragement the 
brighter for the tears through which it beamed. 

It made his childish bosom heave and swell when it 
was gone, and sent the globes, the books, blind Homer, and 

35 Minerva, swimming round the room. But they stopped, 
all of a sudden ; and then he heard the loud clock in the 
hall still gravely inquiring, " how, is, my, lit, tie, friend, 
how, is, my, lit, tie, friend," as it had done before. He 
sat, with folded hands, upon his pedestal, silently listening. 

40 But he might have answered, " weary, weary ! very lone- 
ly, very sad." And there, with an aching void in his 
young heart, and all outside so cold, and bare, and strange, 
Paul sat as if he had taken life unfurnished, and the up- 
holsterer were never coming. 



EX. XXXVII.] RHETORICAL READING. 251 

EXERCISE XXXVII. 

Same Subject, continued. — The Dinner Hour. 

Doctor Blimber was already in his place in the dining- 
room, at the top of the table, with Miss Blimber and Mrs. 
Blimber on either side of him. Mr. Feeder, in a black 
coat, was at the bottom. Paul's chair was next to Miss 

5 Blimber; but it being found, when he sat in it, that his 
eyebrows were not much above the level of the table-cloth, 
some books were brought in from the Doctor's study, on 
which he was elevated, and on which he always sat from 
that time — carrying them in and out himself on after 

10 occasions, like a little elephant and castle. 

Grace having been said by the Doctor, dinner began. 
There was some nice soup ; also roast meat, boiled meat, 
vegetables, pie, and cheese. Every young gentleman had 
a massive silver fork, and a napkin ; and all the arrange- 

15 ments were stately and handsome. In particular, there 
was a butler in a blue coat and bright buttons, who gave 
quite a winy flavor to the table beer ; he poured it out so 
superbly. 

Nobody spoke, unless spoken to, except Dr. Blimber, 

20 Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber, who conversed occasion- 
ally. Whenever a young gentleman was not actually 
engaged with his knife and fork or spoon, his eye, with 
an irresistible attraction, sought the eye of Dr. Blimber, 
,Mrs. Blimber, or Miss Blimber, and modestly rested there. 

25 Toots appeared to be the only exception to this rule. He 
sat next Mr. Feeder on Paul's side of the table, and fre- 
quently looked behind and before the intervening boys to 
catch a glimpse of PauL 

Only once during dinner was there any conversation 

30 that included the young gentlemen. It happened at the 
epoch of the cheese, when the Doctor, having taken a 
glass of port wine, and hemmed twice or thrice, said : 

"It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder, that the Romans — " 
At the mention of this terrible people, their implacable 

85 enemies, every young gentleman fastened his gaze upon 
the Doctor, with an assumption of the deepest interest. 
One of the number, who happened to be drinking, and who 
caught the Doctor's eye glaring at him through the side 
of his tumbler, left off so hastily that he was convulsed 

40 for some moments, and in the sequel ruined Dr. Blimber's 
point. 



252 Parker's exercises in [ex. xxxvii. 

" It is remarkable, Mr. Feeder," said the Doctor, begin- 
ning again slowly, " that the Romans, in those gorgeous 
and profuse entertainments of which we read in the days 
of the emperors, when luxury had attained a height un- 

5 known before or since, and when whole provinces were 
ravaged to supply the splendid means of one imperial 
banquet — " Here the offender, who had been swelling 
and straining, and waiting in vain for a full stop, broke 
out violently. 

10 " Johnson," said Mr. Feeder, in a low, reproachful voice, 
" take some water." The Doctor, looking very stern, 
made a pause until the water was brought, and then re- 
sumed : — " And when, Mr. Feeder — " But Mr. Feeder, 
who saw that Johnson must break out again, and who 

15 knew that the Doctor would never come to a period be- 
fore the young gentlemen until he had finished all he 
meant to say, could n't keep his eyes off Johnson; and 
thus was caught in the fact of not looking at the Doctor, 
who consequently stopped. 

20 " I beg your pardon, sir," said Mr. Feeder, reddening. 
"I beg your pardon, Doctor Blimber." — "And when," 
said the Doctor, raising his voice, " when, sir, as we read, 
and have no reason to doubt — incredible as it may ap- 
pear to the vulgar of our time — the brother of Vitellius 

25 prepared for him a feast, in which were served, of fish, 
two thousand dishes — " — " Take some water, Johnson — 
dishes, sir," said Mr. Feeder. — " Of various sorts of fow/l, 
five thousand dishes," — " Or try a crust of bread," said 
Mr. Feeder. — 

30 " And one dish," pursued Doctor Blimber, raising his 
voice still higher, as he looked all round the table, " called, 
from its enormous dimensions, the Shield of Minerva, 
and made, among other costly ingredients, of the brains 
of pheasants — " — " Ow, ow, ow ! " (from Johnson.) — 

35 " Woodcocks," — " Ow, ow, ow ! " — " The sounds of the 

fish called scari," — "You'll burst some vessel in your 

head," said Mr. Feeder. " You had better let it come." — 

" And the spawn of the lamprey, brought from the 

Carpathian Sea," pursued the Doctor, in his severest voice ; 

40 " when we read of costly entertainments such as these, 
and still remember that we have a Titus," — " What would 
be your mother's feelings if you died of apoplexy ? " said 
Mr. Feeder. — "A Domitian," — " And you 're blue, you 
know," said Mr. Feeder. — " A Nero, a Tiberius, a Cali- 



EX. XXXVII.] RHETORICAL READING. 253 

-gula, a Heliogabalus, and many more," pursued the Doc- 
tor ; "it is, Mr. Feeder — if you are doing me the honor 
to attend — remarkable ; very remarkable, sir — " 

But Johnson, unable to suppress it any longer, burst 
5 at that moment into such an overwhelming fit of cough- 
ing, that, although both his immediate neighbors thumped 
him on the back, and Mr. Feeder himself held a glass of 
water to his lips, and the butler walked him up and down 
several times between his own chair and the sideboard, 

10 like a sentry, it was full five minutes before he was mod- 
erately composed. Then there was a profound silence. 

" Gentlemen" said Doctor Blimber, " rise for grace I 
Cornelia, lift Dombey down," — nothing of whom but his 
scalp was accordingly seen above the table-cloth. " John- 

15 son will repeat to me to-morrow morning, before breakfast, 
without book, and from the Greek Testament, the first 
epistle of Saint Paul to the Ephesians. We will resume 
our studies, Mr. Feeder, in half an hour." 

The young gentlemen bowed and withdrew. Mr. Feed- 

20 er did likewise. During the half hour, the young gentle- 
men, broken into pairs, loitered arm-in-arm up and down 
a small piece of ground behind the house, or endeavored 
to kindle a spark of animation in the breast of Briggs. 
But nothing happened so vulgar as play. Punctually at 

25 the appointed time, the gong was sounded, and the studies, 
under the joint auspices of Doctor Blimber and Mr. Feed- 
er, were resumed. 

As the Olympic game of lounging up and down had 
been cut shorter than usual that day, on Johnson's ac- 

30 count, they all went out for a walk before tea. Even 
Briggs (though he had n't begun yet) partook of this dis-, 
sipation ; in the enjoyment of which he looked over the 
cliff two or three times darkly. Doctor Blimber accom- 
panied them ; and Paul had the honor of being taken in 

35 tow by the Doctor himself: a distinguished state of things, 
in which he looked very little and feeble. 

Tea was served in a style no less polite than the dinner; 
and after tea, the young gentlemen, rising and bowing as 
before, withdrew to fetch up the unfinished tasks of that day, 

40 or to get up the already looming tasks of to-morrow. In the 

mean time Mr. Feeder withdrew to his own room ; and Paul 

sat in a corner, wondering whether Florence was thinking 

of him, and Vv^hat they were all about at Mrs. Pipchin's. 

At eiofht o'clock or so, the gong sounded again for 

22 



254 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [eX. XXXIX. 

prayers in the dining-room, where the butler afterwards 
presided over a side table, on which bread and cheese and 
beer were spread for such young gentlemen as desired to 
partake of those refreshments. The ceremonies concluded 
5 by the Doctor's saying, " Gentlemen, we will resume our 
studies at seven to-morrow ; " and then, for the first time, 
Paul saw Cornelia Blimber's eye, and saw that it was upon 
. him. When the Doctor had said these words, "Gentle- 
men, we will resume our studies at seven to-morrow," the 
10 pupils bowed again and went to bed. — Dickens. 



EXERCISE XXXVIII. 

Oratcrr Puff. 

Mr. Orator Puff had two tones in his voice. 
The one squeaking thus, and the other down so ; 
In each sentence he uttered he gave you your choice, 
For one half was B alt. and the rest G below. 
15 Oh ! oh ! orator Puff, 

One voice for one orator 's surely enough. 
But he still talked away, spite of coughs and of frowns, 
So distracting all ears with his ups and his downs, 
That a wag once, on hearing the orator say, 
20 "My voice is for war," asked him, which of them, pray? 
Oh! oh! &c. 
Reeling homewards, one evening, top heavy with gin, 
And rehearsing his speech on the weight of the crown. 
He tripped near a saw-pit, and tumbled right in, 
25 " Sinking fund," the last words as his noddle came down. 
Oh! oh! (fee. 
" Ah ! me," he exclaimed, in his he and she tones, 
" Help me out — help me out — I have broken my bones ! " 
" Help you out ! " said a Paddy who passed, "what a bother! 
30 Why, there 's tivo of you there ; can't you help one another ? " 
Oh ! oh ! &c. T. Moore. 



EXERCISE XXXIX. 

Soliloquy of Dick the Apprentice. 

Thus far we run before the wind. — An apothecary ! — 
Make an apothecary of me ! — What ! cramp my genius 



EX. XL.J RHETORICAL READING. 255 

over a pestle and mortar! or mew me up in a shop, with 
an alligator stuffed, and a beggarly account of empty 
boxes ! To be culling simples, and constantly adding to 
the bills of mortality ! — No ! no ! It will be much better 
5 to be pasted up in capitals, "The part of Romeo by a 
young gentleman, who never appeared on any stage be- 
fore ! " My ambition fires at the thought. But hold ; 

may n't I run some chance of failing in my attempt ? 
Hissed — pelted — laughed at — not admitted into the 

10 green room ; — that will never do — down, busy devil, 
down, down ! Try it ag-ain — loved by the women — envied 
by the men — applauded by the pit, clapped by the galle- 
ry, admired by the boxes. " Dear colonel, is n't he a 
charming creature? — My Lord, don't you like him of all 

15 things? — Makes love like an angel! — What an eye he 
has! — Fine legs! — I shall certainly go to his benefit." 
— Celestial sounds! — And then I'll get in with all the 
painters, and have myself put up in every print shop — 
in the character of Macbeth ! " This is a sorry sight." 

20 {Stands an attitude.) In the character of Richard, " Give 
me another horse ! Bind up my wounds ! " This will do 
rarely. — And then I have a chance of getting well mar- 
ried. — Oh glorious thought ! I will enjoy it, though but 
in fancy. But what 's o'clock ? It must be almost nine. 

25 I '11 away at once; this is club night — the spouters are 
all met — little think they I 'm in town — they '11 be sur- 
prised to see me — off I go ; and then for my assignation 
with my master Gargle's daughter. 

Limbs, do your office, and support me well ; 
Bear me to her, then fail me if you can. 



EXERCISE XL. 
Facetious History of John Gilpin. 

John Gilpin was a citizen of credit and renown ; 
A train-band captain eke weis he, of famous London to^^Ti. [been 
John Gilpin's spouse said to her dear. — "Though wedded we have 
These twice ten tedious years, yet we no holiday have seen. 

35 '• To-morrow is our wedding-day, and we shall then repair 
Unto the Bell at Edmonton, all in a chaise and pair. 
My sister and my sister's child, myself and children three, 
Will fill the chaise ; so you must ride on horseback after we.-' 
He soon replied, — "I do admire of woman-kind but one; 

40 And you are she, my dearest dear, therefore it shall be done. 
I am a linen draper bold, as all the world doth know ; 
And my good friend, Tom Calender, will lend his horse to go." 



256 Parker's exercises in [ex. xl. 

Quoth Mrs. Gilpin, — "That's well said, and, for that wine is dear, 
We will be famished with our own, which is so bright and clear. 
John Gilpin kissed his loving wife ; o'erjoyed was he to find, 
That, though on pleasure she was bent, she had a frugal mind. 
5 The morning came, the chaise was brought, but yet was not allowed 
To drive up to the door, lest all should say that she was proud. 
So three doors off the chaise was staid, where they did all get in — 
Six precious souls ; and all agog to dash through thick and thin. 
Smack went the whip, round went the wheels, were never folks so 
10 glad; 

The stones did rattle underneath, as if Cheapside were mad. 
John Gilpin, at his horse's side, seized fast the flowing mane, 
And up he got in haste to ride, but soon came down again. 
For saddle-tree scarce reached had he, his journey to begin, 
15 When, turning round his face, he saw three customers come in. 
So down he came ; for loss of time, although it grieved him sore, 
Yet loss of pence, full well he knew, would grieve him still much 
more. 
'Twas long before the customers were suited to their mind, 
20 When Betty screamed into his ears — " The wine is left behind ! " 
"Good lack!" quoth he; "yetbringit me ; my leathern belt likewise, 
In which I bear my trusty sword when I do exercise." 

Now Mrs. Gilpin — careful soul — had two stone bottles found, 
To hold the liquor which she loved, and keep it safe and sound. 
25 Each bottle had two curUng ears, through which the belt he drew; 
He hung one bottle on each side, to make his balance true. 
Then, over all, that he might be equipped from top to toe, 
His long red cloak, well brushed and neat, he manfully did throw. 
Now see him mounted once again upon his nimble steed, 
30 Full slowly pacing o'er the stones, with caution and good heed. 
But, finding soon a smoother road beneath his well-shod feet. 
The snorting beast began to trot, which galled him in his seat. 
So " fair and softly," John did cry, but John he cried in vain ; 
The trot became a gallop soon, in spite of curb or rein. 
35 So stooping down, as he needs must who cannot sit upright, 

He grasped the mane with both his hands, and eke with all his might. 
Away went Gilpin, neck or nought, away went hat and wig ; 
He little dreamt, when he set out, of running such a rig. 
The horse, who never had before been handled in this kind, 
40 Affrighted fled ; and, as he flew, left all the world behind. 

The wind did blow, the cloak did fly, like streamers long and gay ; 
Till loop and button failing both, at last it flew away. 

Then might all people well discern the bottles he had slung; 
A bottle swinging at each side, as has been said or sung. 
45 The dogs- did bark, the children screamed, up flew the windows all ; 
And every soul cried out, "Well done!" as loud as they could bawl. 
Away went Gilpin — who but he ? his fame soon spread around — 
" He carries weight ! — he rides a race ! — 't is for a thousand pound." 
And still as fast as he drew near, 't was wonderful to view, 
50 How, in a trice, the turnpike men their gates wide open threw. 
And now as he went bowing down his reeking head full low, 
The bottles twain behind his back, were shattered at a blow. 
Down ran the wine into the road, most piteous to be seen. 
And made his horse's flanks to smoke, as he had basted been, 



EX. XL.] RHETORICAL READING. 257 

But still he seemed to carry weight, with leathern girdle brac-ed; 
For still the bottle necks were left, both dangling at his waist. 
Thus all through merry Islington those gambols he did play, 
And till he came unto the wash of Edmonton so gay. 
5 And there he threw the wash about on both sides of the way, 
Just like unto a trundling mop, or a wild goose at play. 
At Edmonton, his loving wife, from the balcony, spied 
Her tender husband, wondering much to see how he did ride. 

'• Stop, stop, John Gilpin, here 's the house !" they all at once did cry ; 
10 " The dinner waits, and we are tired ! " Said Gilpin, — •' So am i \ " 
Eut ah, his horse was not a whit inclined to tarry there: 
For why? — his owner had a house full ten miles off, at Ware. 

So like an arrow swift he tlew, shot by an archer strong ; 
So he did fly — which brings me to the middle of my song. 
15 Awa}^ went Gilpin out of breath, and sore against his will, 
Till at his friend's, Tom Calender's, his horse at last stood still. 

Tom Calender, surprised to see his friend in such a trim. 
Laid down his pipe, flew to the gate, and thus accosted him : 
"What news, what news? — the tidings tell; make haste and tell 
20 me all ! 

Say, why bare-headed are you come, or why you come at all?" 

Now Gilpin had a pleasant wit, and loved a timely joke ; 
And thus unto Tom Calender in merry strains he spoke : — 
"I come because your horse would come ; and if I well forbode, 
25 My hat and wig will soon be here, they are upon the road." 
Tom Calender, right glad to find his friend in merry pin, 
Returned him not a single word, but to the house went in. [hind, 
Whence straight he came with hat and wig, — a wig that drooped be- 
A hat not much the worse for wear ; each comely in its kind. 
30 He held them up, and, in his turn, thus showed his ready wit : — 
" My head is twice as big as yours, they therefore needs must fit. 
But let me scrape the dirt away that hangs about your face ; 
And stop and eat — for well you may be in a hungry case ! " 

Said John — "It is my wedding-day; and folks would gape and 
35 stare. 

If wife should dine at Edmonton, and I should dine at Ware." 
Then speaking to his horse, he said, " I am in haste to dine ; 
'Twas for your pleasure you came here, you shall go back for mine." 
Ah ! luckless word, and bootless boast, for which he paid full dear ; 
40 For, while he spoke, a braying ass did sing most loud and clear : 
Whereat his horse did snort, as if he heard a hon roar ; 
And galloped off with all his might, as he had done before. 

Away went Gilpin — and away went Gilpin's hat and wig ; 
He lost- them sooner than at first : for why ? — they were too big. 
45 Now Gilpin's wife, when she had seen her husband posting down 
Into the country far away, she pulled out half a crown ; 

And thus unto the youth she said that drove them to the Bell, 
" This shall be yours, when you back bring my husband safe and well." 
The youth did ride, and soon they met ; he tried to stop John's horse, 
50 By seizing fast the flowing rein ; but only made things worse : 

For, not performing what he meant, and gladly would have done ; 
He thereby frighted Gilpin's horse, and made him faster run. 
Away went Gilpin — and away went post-boy at his heels; 
The post-boy's horse right glad to miss the lumber of the wheels. 
22^ 



25S Parker's exercises m [ex. xli. 

Six gentlemen upon the road, thus seeing Gilpin fly, 
With post-boy scampering in the rear, they raised the hue-and-cry. 
" Stop thief! — stop thief! — a highwayman ! " not one of them was 
mate, 
5 So they, and all that passed that way, soon jomed in the pursuit. 
But all the turnpike gates again flew open in short space ; 
The men still thinking, as before, that Gilpin rode a race : 
And so he did, and won it, too ; for he got first to town -, 
' Nor stopped till where he first got up he did again get dow^n. 
10 Now let us sing — " Long live the king, and Gilpin, long live he ! " 
And when he next does ride abroad, may I be there to see ! 

Cowper. 



EXERCISE XLI. 

The Departure of the Gypsies from Ellangowan. 

It was in a hollow way, near the top of a steep ascent 
upon the verge of the Ellangowan estate, that Mr. Bertram 
met the gypsy procession. Four or five men formed 

15 the advanced guard, wrapped in long, loose great coats, 
that hid their tall, slender figures, as the large slouched 
hats, drawn over their brows, concealed their wild features, 
dark eyes, and swarthy faces. Two of them carried long 
fowling-pieces, one wore a broad-sword without a sheath, 

20 and all had the Highland dirk, though they did not wear 
that weapon openly or ostentatiously. 

Behind them followed the train of laden asses, and small 
carts, or tumblers, as they were called in that country, on 
which were laid the decrepid and the helpless, the aged 

25 and infant part of the exiled community. The women in 
their red cloaks and straw hats, the elder children with 
bare heads and bare feet, and almost naked bodies, had the 
immediate care of the little caravan. The road was nar- 
row, running between two broken banks of sand, and Mr. 

30 Bertram's servant rode forward, smacking his whip with an 
air of authority, and motioning to their drivers to allow 
free passage to their betters. 

His signal was unattended to. He then called to the 
men who lounged idly on before, " Stand to your beasts' 

55 heads, and make room for the laird to pass." — "He shall 
have his share of the road," answered a male gypsy from 
under his slouched and large-brimmed hat, and without 
raising his face, " and he shall have no more ; the high- 
way is as free to our cuddies as to his geldings." 

40 The tone of the man being sulky, and even menacing, 



EX. XLI.] RHETORICAL READING. 259 

Mr. Bertram thoug-ht it best to put his dignity into his 
pocket, and pass by the procession quietly, upon such space 
as they chose to leave for his accommodation, which was 
narrow enough. To cover with an appearance of indif- 
5 ference his feeling of the want of respect with which he 
was treated, he addressed one of the men, as he passed 
him, without any show of greeting, salute, or recognition, 
— " Giles Baillie," he said, " have you heard that your 
son Gabriel is well ? " (the question respecting the young 

10 man who had been pressed.) 

" If I had heard otherwise," said the old man, looking 
up with a stern and menacing countenance, "you should 
have heard it too." And he plodded his way, tarrying no 
further question. When the laird had pressed onward 

15 with difficulty among a crowd of familiar faces, — in which 
he now only read hatred and contempt, but which had on 
all former occasions marked his approach with the rever- 
ence due to that of a superior being, — and had got clear of 
the throng, he could not help turning his horse and looking 

20 back to mark the progress of the march. The group 
would have been an excellent subject for the pencil of 
Colotte. The van had already reached a small and 
stunted thicket, which was at the bottom of the hill, and 
which gradually hid the line of march until the last strag- 

25 glers disappeared. 

His sensations were bitter enough. The race, it is true, 
which he had thus summarily dismissed from their ancient 
place of refuge, was idle and vicious ; but had he endeav- 
ored to render them otherwise ? They were not more 

30 irregular characters now than they had been while they 
were admitted to consider themselves as a sort of subor- 
dinate dependants of his family ; and ought the circum- 
stance of his becoming a magistrate to have made at once 
such a change in his conduct towards them ? Some means 

35 of reformation ought at least to have been tried, before send- 
ing seven families at once upon the wide world, and de- 
priving them of a degree of countenance which withheld 
them at least from atrocious guilt. 

There was also a natural yearning of heart upon parting 

40 with so many known and familiar faces ; and to this feel- 
ing Godfrey Bertram was peculiarly accessible, from the 
limited qualities of his mind, which .sought its principal 
amusements among the petty objects around him. 

As he was about to turn his horse's head to pursue his 



260 Parker's exercises in [ex. xli. 

journey, Meg- Merrilies, who had lagged behind the troops, 
unexpectedly presented herself. She was standing upon one 
of those high banks, which, as we before noticed, overhung 
the road ; so that she was placed considerably higher than 
5 Ellangowan, even though he was on horseback; and her 
tall figure, relieved against the clear blue sky, seemed 
almost of supernatural height. We have noticed that 
there was in her general attire, or rather in her mode of 
adjusting it, somewhat of a foreign costume, artfully adopt- 

10 ed, perhaps, for the purpose of adding to the effect of her 
spells and predictions, or perhaps from some traditional 
notions respecting the dress of her ancestors. On this 
occasion, she had a» large piece of red cotton cloth rolled 
about her head in the form of a turban, from beneath which 

15 her dark eyes flashed with uncommon lustre. 

Her long and tangled black hair fell in elf locks from 
the folds of this singular head gear. Her attitude was that 
of a sybil in frenzy, as she stretched out, in her right hand, 
a sapling bough which seemed just pulled. " I '11 be sworn," 

20 said the groom, " she has been cutting the young ashes in 
the Dukit Park." The laird made no answer, but contin- 
ued to look at the figure which was thus perched above his 
path. 

" Ride your ways," said the gypsy, " ride your ways, 

25 Laird of Ellangowan — ride your ways, Godfrey Bertram ! 
This day have ye quenched seven smoaking hearths ; — 
see if the fire in your ain parlor burn the blyther for that ! 
Ye have riven the thack off seven cottar houses ; — look 
if your ain roof-tree stand the faster ! Ye may stable your 

30 stirks in the shealings at Derncleugh ; — see that the hare 
does not couch on the hearthstane at Ellangowan ! Ride 
your ways, Godfrey Bertram ! — what do ye glowr after 
our folk for ? There 's thirty hearts there, that wad hae 
wanted bread ere ye had wanted sunkets, and spent their 

35 life-blood ere ye had scratched your finger, — yes, there 's 
thirty yonder, from the auld wife of an hundred to the 
babe that was born last week, that ye hae turned out o' 
their bits o' bields, to sleep with the toad and the black- 
cock in the muirs ! Ride your ways, Ellangowan ! Our 

40 bairns are hinging at our weary backs ; — look that your 
braw cradle at hame be the fairer spread up ! — Not that I 
am wishing ill to little Harry, or to the babe that 's yet to be 
born — God forbid, and make them kind to the poor, and 
better folk than their father ! — And now, ride e'en your 



EX. XLII.] RHETORICAL READING. 261 

ways, for these are the last words ye '11 ever hear Meg 
Merrilies speak, and this is the last reise that I '11 ever cut 
in the bonny woods of Ellangowan." 

So saying, she broke the sapling she held in her hand, 
5 and flung it into the road. Margaret of Anjou, bestowing 
on her triumphant foes her keen-edged malediction, could 
not have turned from them with a gesture more proudly 
contemptuous. The laird was clearing his voice to speak, 
and thrusting his hand in his pocket to find half a crown ; 

10 the g}'psy waited neither for his reply nor his donation, 
but strode down the hill to overtake the caravan. 

Ellangowan rode pensively home ; and it was remarka- 
ble that he did not mention this interview to any of his 
family. The groom was not so reserved : he told the story 

15 at great length to a full audience in the kitchen, and con- 
cluded by swearing, that " if ever the devil spoke by the 
mouth of a woman, he had spoken by that of Meg Merri- 
lies that blessed day." — Sir Walter Scott. 



EXERCISE XLII. 

Spring. 

CojME, gentle Spring, ethereal Mildness, come, 

20 And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud. 
While music wakes around, veiled in a shower 
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend. 

Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts 
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain 

25 With innocence and meditation joined 
In_soft assemblage, listen to my song. 
Which thy own Season paints ; when Nature all 
Is blooming and benevolent, like thee. 
And see where surly Winter passes off, 

30 Far to the north, and calls his ruffian blasts : 
His blasts obey, and quit the howling hill, 
The shattered forest, and the ravaged vale ; 
While softer gales succeed, at whose kind touch, 
Dissolving snows in livid torrents lost, 

35 The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. 
As yet the trembling year is unconfirmed, 
And Winter oft at eve resumes the breeze. 
Chills the pale morn, and bids his driving sleets 



262 Parker's exercises in [ex. xlii. 

Deform the day delightless : so that scarce 
The bittern knows his time, with bill ingulfed, 
To shake the sounding marsh ; or from the shore 
The plovers when to scatter o'er the heath, 
5 And sing their wild notes to the listening waste. 
At last from Aries rolls the bounteous sun, 
And the bright Bull receives him. Then no more 
The expansive atmosphere is cramped with cold ; 
But, full of life and vivifying soul, 

10 Lifts the light clouds sublime, and spreads them thin, 
Fleecy and white, o'er all- surrounding heaven. 

Forth fly the tepid airs : and unconfined, 
Unbinding earth, the moving softness strays. 
Joyous, the impatient husbandman perceives 

15 Relenting Nature, and his lusty steers 

Drives from their stalls to where the well-used plough 
Lies in the furrow, loosened from the frost. 
There unrefusing, to the harnessed yoke 
They lend their shoulder, and begin their toil 

20 Cheered by the simple song and soaring lark. 
Meanwhile incumbent o'er the shining share 
The master leans, removes the obstructing clay. 
Winds the whole work, and sidelong lays the glebe. 
While through the neighboring fields the sower stalks, 

25 With measured step ; and liberal throws the grain 
Into the faithful bosom of the ground : 
The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the scene. 
Be gracious. Heaven ! for now laborious man 
Has done his part. Ye fostering breezes, blow ! 

30 Ye softening dews, ye tender showers, descend ! 
And temper all, thou world-reviving sun, 
Into the perfect year ! Nor ye who live 
In luxury and ease, in pomp and pride. 
Think these lost themes unworthy of your ear : 

85 Such themes as these the rural Maro sung 
To wide -imperial Rome, in the full height 
Of elegance and taste, by Greece refined. 
In ancient times, the sacred plough employed 
The kings and awful fathers of mankind : 

40 And some, with whom compared your insect tribes 
Are but the beings of a summer's day. 
Have held the scale of empire, ruled the storm 
Of mighty war ; then, with unwearied hand. 
Disdaining little delicacies, seized 

4" The plough, and greatly independent lived. Thoinsmi. 




EX. XLIII.] RHETORICAL KEADLXG. 263 

EXERCISE XLHI. 

Address of the Massachusetts Legislature^ Feb. 1797, to 
George Washmgton, President of the United States, on 
his retiring from offijce. 

Sm, — As you have announced to the people of the 
United States your intention to retire from the cares and 
decline the honors of public life, the Legislature of Mas- 
sachusetts deem it a becoming duty, to express their sen- 
5 timents, and those of their constituents, on this interesting 
event. 

It is not an opinion that our public testimony of your 
merits can be necessary to the lustre of your reputation, 
or the serenity of your repose, which prompts us to join 

10 the general voice of America in applauding your great 
and glorious services ; but we are excited to this measure 
by a wish to exhibit a powerful inducement to the love of 
our country, and to transmit to future times a record of the 
gratitude of our republic. 

15 As the able and heroic general, who led our armies to 
victory and our country to independence, or as an enlight- 
ened and patriotic magistrate, under whose administration 
the United States have enjoyed peace and prosperity, your 
conduct has furnished a great and brilliant example of in- 

20 tegrity, fortitude, and wisdom. 

We trust that the pacific system which you have pur- 
sued with regard to the foreign relations of the country 
will be as completely justified by its eventual success, as 
it is by the maxims of equity and prudence ; and we in- 

25 dulge the hope, that this system will not be discontinued, 
and that its beneficial effects will not be confined to Amer- 
ica, but will tend to discredit, among the nations of the 
world, that false and barbarous policy which sacrifices the 
public good at the shrine of resentment and ambition. 
iO When this effect shall take place, the cause of human- 
ity will have derived a precious advantage from the exam- 
ple you have given, that moderation is the basis of true 
dignity, and that those laurels which are reared in sun- 
shine and peace are beyond comparison fairer than those 

35 which are fertilized by the tears and blood of a people. 

We receive your address to your fellow-citizens, upon 
the occasion of your intended retirement from your civil 
situation, with the same sentiments of respect and emo- 
tions of gratitude which were inspired by that which 



264 Parker's exercises in [ex. xliii. 

terminated your military career; sensible that it discloses 
an intelligent view of their political interests, and discov- 
ers that affectionate zeal for their future v^elfare which 
marks the character of their common friend. 
5 Whilst, in behalf of our country, we lament the neces- 
sity which deprives her of your services in public life, we 
cannot deny that so many years of anxious toil for her 
interests give you the best title to that repose which you 
have long so ardently wished to enjoy. 

10 You will retire, covered with glory and followed with 
the blessings of your fellow-citizens ; — whose honor and 
happiness it will be, that whilst you have deserved well of 
your country, that country has never ceased to cherish a 
grateful and admiring sense of your worth. 

15 Our fervent prayers for your health and enjoyment will 
go with you into the retreats of private life ; may you live 
to be full of years, and satisfied with beholding the pros- 
perity of your country; and when you shall be called from 
the present scene, may that beneficent Being, who has 

20 made you the happy instrument of so much good to man- 
kind, admit you to those rewards, in a future state, which 
this world cannot bestow. 

Boston Centinel, March 8th, 1797. 



EXERCISE XLIII. — Continued. 
President Washington's Reply to the Senators representing 
the Commonwealth of Massachusetts iii the Congress of 
the United States. 

Gentlemen, — The sentiments expressed in the address 
you have delivered to me, from the Senate and House of 

25 Representatives of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts, — 
sentiments as honorable to them as to me, — have excited 
the most grateful emotions. Whatever services I have 
rendered to my country, in its general approbation I have 
received an ample reward. Having nothing in view but 

30 to vindicate its rights, secure its liberty, and promote its 
happiness, I might expect the most efficient aid and sup- 
port in the exertions of able and upright men, and in the 
general spirit of my fellow-citizens. All this I have ex- 
perienced, and our united efforts have resulted in our 

35 independence, peace, and prosperity. And I entertain the 



EX. XLIV.J RHETORICAL READING. 265 

pleasing" hope, that the intelligence and superior informa- 
tion of my fellow-citizens, enabling them to discern their 
true interests, will lead them to the successive choice of 
wise and virtuous men to watch over, protect and promote 

5 them, who, while they pursue those maxims of modera- 
tion, equity and prudence, which will entitle our country 
to perpetual peace, will cultivate that fortitude and dignity 
of sentiment which are essential to the maintenance of 
our liberty-and independence. 

10 Should it please God, according to the prayers of your 
constituents, to grant me health and long life, my greatest 
enjoyment will be to behold the prosperity of my country ; 
and the affection and attachment of my fellow-citizens, 
through the whole period of my public employments, will 

15 be the subject of my most agreeable recollections : — while 
a belief, which the affecting sentiments of the people of 
Massachusetts, expressed by their Senate and House of 
Representatives, with those of my fellow-citizens in gen- 
eral, have inspired, that I have been the happy instrument 

20 of much good to my country and to mankind, will be a 
source of unceasing gratitude to Heaven. 

Feb. 24, 1797. G. Washuxgton. 



EXERCISE XLIV. 

Trout Fiski?ig. 

Now when the first foul torrent of the brooks, 
Swelled with the vernal rains, is ebbed away, 
25 And, whitening, down their mossy-tinctured stream 
Descends the billowy foam : now is the time, 
While yet the dark-brown water aids the guile, 
To tempt the trout. The well-dissembled fly, 
The rod fine-tapering with elastic spring, 
30 Snatched from the hoary steed the floating line, 
And all thy slender watery stores prepare. 

But let not on thy hook the tortured worm 
Convulsive twist in agonizing folds ; 
Which, by rapacious hunger swallowed deep, 
35 Gives, as you tear it from the bleeding breast 
Of the w^eak, helpless, uncomplaining wretch, 
Harsh pain and horror to the tender hand. 

When with his lively ray the potent sun 
Has pierced the streams, and roused the finny race, 
23 



266 Parker's exercises in [ex. xliv. 

Then, issuing cheerful, to thy sport repair ; 
Chief should the western breezes curling play, 
And light o'er ether bear the shadowy clouds. 
High to their fount, this day, amid the hills, 
5 And woodlands warbling round, trace up the brooks ; 
The next, pursue their rocky-channeled maze 
Down to the river, in whose ample wave 
Their little naiads love to sport at Jarge. 

Just in the dubious point, where with the pool 

10 Is mixed the trembling stream, or where it boils 
Around the stone, or from the hollowed bank 
Reverted plays in undulating flow. 
There throw, nice judging, the delusive fly; 
And, as you lead it round in artful curve, 

15 With eye attentive mark the springing game. 
Straight as above the surface of the flood 
They wanton rise, or, urged by hunger, leap, 
Then fix, with gentle twitch, the barbed hook ; 
Some lightly tossing to the grassy bank, 

20 And to the shelving shore slow dragging some, 
With various hand proportioned to their force. 

If yet too young, and easily deceived, 
A worthless prey scarce bends your pliant rod, 
Him, piteous of his youth and the short space 

25 He has enjoyed the vital light of heaven. 
Soft disengage, and back into the stream 
The speckled captive throw. But should you lure 
From his dark haunt, beneath the tangled roots 
Of pendant trees, the monarch of the brook, 

30 Behoves you then to ply your finest art. 

Long time he, following cautious, scans the fly; 
And oft attempts to seize it, but as oft 
The dimpled water speaks his jealous fear. 
At last, while haply o'er the shaded sun 

35 Passes a cloud, he desperate takes the death, 
With sullen plunge. At once he darts along, 
Deep struck, and runs out all the lengthened line 
Then seeks the furthest ooze, the sheltering weed, 
The caverned bank, his old secure abode ; 

40 And flies aloft, and flounces round the pool, 
Indignant of the guile. 

With yielding hand, 
That feels him still, yet to his furious course 
Gives way, you, now retiring, following now 



EX. XLV.] RHETORICAL READING. 267 

Across the stream, exhaust his idle rage : 

Till, floating broad upon his breathless side, 

And to his fate abandoned, to the shore 

You gayly drag your unresisting prize. Thomson. 



EXERCISE XLV. 

On Contentment. 

5 Contentment produces, in some measure, all those ef- 
fects which the alchemist usually ascribes to what he calls 
the philosopher's stone; and if it does not bring riches, it 
does the same thing, by banishing the desire of them. If 
it cannot remove the disquietudes arising out of a man's 

10 mind, body, or fortune, it makes him easy under them. 
It has, indeed, a kindly influence on the soul of man, in 
respect of every being to whom he stands related. 

It extinguishes all murmur, repining and ingratitude, 
towards that Being who has allotted him his part to act 

15 in this world. It destroys all inordinate ambition, and 
every tendency to corruption, with regard to the commu- 
nity wherein he is placed. It gives sweetness to his con- 
versation, and a perpetual serenity to all his thoughts. 
Among the many methods which might be made use of 

20 for the acquiring of this virtue, I shall only mention the 
two following. First of all, a man should always consid- 
er how much he has more than he wants ; and secondly, 
how much more unhappy he might be than he really is. 
First of all, a man should always consider how much 

25 he has more than he wants. I am wonderfully pleased 
with the reply which Aristippus made to one who con- 
doled with him upon the loss of a farm : " Why," said 
he, "I have three farms still, and you have but one; so 
that I ought rather to be afllicted for you than you for 

80 me." On the contrary, foolish men are more apt to con- 
sider what they have lost than what they possess ; and 
to fix their eyes upon those who are richer than them- 
selves, rather than on those who are under greater diffi- 
culties. 

35 All the real pleasures and conveniences of life lie in a 
narrow compass; but it is the humor of mankind to be 
always looking forward, and straining after one who has 
got the start of them in wealth and honor. For this 



268 Parker's exercises in [ex. xlv. 

reason, as none can be properly called rich who have not 
more than they want, there are few rich men, in any of 
the politer nations, but among the middle sort of people, 
who keep their wishes within their fortunes, and have 
5 more wealth than they know how to enjoy. Persons of 
a higher rank live in a kind of splendid poverty ; and are 
perpetually wanting, because, instead of acquiescing in the 
solid pleasures of life, they endeavor to outvie one another 
in shadows and appearances. 

10 Men of sense have at all times beheld with a great 
deal of mirth this silly game that is playing over their 
heads; and, by contracting their desires, they enjoy all 
that secret satisfaction which others are always in quest 
of. The truth is, this ridiculous chase after imaginary 

15 pleasures cannot be sufficiently exposed, as it is the great 
source of those evils which generally undo a nation. Let 
a man's estate be what it may, he is a poor man if he 
does not live within it ; and naturally sets himself to sale 
to any one who can give him his price. 

20 When Pittacus, after the death of his brother, who had 
left him a good estate, was offered a great sum of money 
by the King of Lydia, he thanked him for his kindness, 
but told him he had already more by half than he knew 
what to do with. In short, content is equivalent to wealth, 

25 and luxury to poverty; or, to give the thought a more 
agreeable turn, " Content is natural wealth," says Socrates ; 
to which I shall add. Luxury is artificial poverty. 

I shall therefore recommend to the consideration of 
those who are always aiming at superfluous and imagin- 

30 ary enjoyments, and who will not be at the trouble of con- 
tracting their desires, an excellent saying of Bion the phi- 
losopher, namely, " That no man has so much care as he 
who endeavors after the most happiness." 

In the second place, every one ought to reflect how 

35 much more unhappy he might be than he really is. The 
former consideration took in all those who are sufficiently 
provided with the means to make themselves easy ; this 
regards such as actually lie under some pressure or mis- 
fortune. These may receive great alleviation from such a 

40 comparison as the unhappy person may make between 
himself and others: or between the misfortune which he 
suffers, and greater misfortunes which might have befallen 
him. 

I like the story of the honest Dutchman, who, upon 



EX. XLV.] RHETORICAL READING. 269 

breaking his leg by a fall from the mainmast, told the 
standers by it was a great niercy that it was not his neck. 
To which, since I am got into quotations, give me leave to 
add the saying of an- old philosopher, who, after having 
5 invited some of his friends to dine with him, was ruffled 
by a person that came into the room in a passion, and 
threw down the table that stood before them : " Every 
one," says he, " has his calamity ; and he is a happy man 
that has no greater than this." 

10 We find an instance to the same purpose in the life of 
Doctor Hammond, written by Bishop Fell. As this good 
man was troubled v/ith a complication of distempers, when 
he had the gout upon him, he used to thank God that it 
was not the stone ; and when he had the stone, that he had 

15 not both these distempers on him at the same time. 

I cannot conclude this essay without observing, that 
there never was any system, besides that of Christianity, 
which could effectually produce in the mind of man the 
virtue I have been hitherto speaking of. 

20 In order to make us contented with our condition, many 
of the present philosophers tell us that our discontent only 
hurts ourselves, without being able to make any alteration 
in our circumstances ; others, that whatever evil befalls us 
is derived to us by a fatal necessity, to which superior 

25 beings themselves are subject ; while others very gravely 
tell the man who is miserable that it is necessary he 
should be so, to keep up the harmony of the universe ; and 
that the scheme of Providence would be troubled and per- 
verted were he otherwise. 

30 These, and the like considerations, rather silence than 
satisfy a man. They may show him that his discontent 
is unreasonable, but they are by no means sufficient to 
relieve it. They rather give despair than consolation. In 
a word, a man might reply to one of these comforters, as 

35 Augustus did to his friend who advised him not to grieve 

for the death of a person whom he loved, because his grief 

could not fetch him again : " It is for that very reason." 

said the emperor, " that I grieve." 

• On the contrary, religion bears a more tender regard to 

40 human nature. It prescribes to every miserable man the 
means of bettering his condition ; nay, it shows him that 
the bearing of his afflictions as he ought to do will natu- 
rally end in the removal of them. It makes him easy 
here, because it can make him happy hereafter. — Addison. 
23=^ 



270 Parker's exercises in [ex. xlvi, 

EXERCISE XLVL 

Farewell. 

Farewell — farewell to thee, Araby's daughter! 
(Thus warbled a Peri beneath the dark sea;) 
No pearl ever lay under Oman's green water 
More pure in its shell than thy spirit in thee. 
5 Oh ! fair as the sea-flower close to thee growing, 

How light was thy heart till love's witchery came, 
Like the wind of the south o'er a summer lute blowing, 
And hushed all its music and withered its frame ! 
But long, upon Araby's green sunny highlands, 
10 Shall maids and their lovers remember the doom 
Of her who lies sleeping among the pearl islands, 
With nought but the sea-star to light up her tomb. 

And still, when the merry date season is burning, 
And calls to the palm-groves the young and the old, 
15 The happiest there, from their pastime returning, 
At sunset, will weep when thy story is told. 

The young village maid, when with flowers she dresses 
Her dark flowing hair for some festival day. 
Will think of thy fate, till, neglecting her tresses, 
20 She mournfully turns from the mirror away. 

Nor shall Iran, beloved of her hero ! forget thee, — 
Though tyrants watch over her tears as they start, 
Close, close by the side of that hero she '11 set thee, 
Embalmed in the innermost shrine of her heart. 
25 Farewell — be it ours to embellish thy pillow 

With everything beauteous that grows in the deep ; 
Each flower of the rock, and each gem of the billow, 
Shall sweeten thy bed, and illumine thy sleep. 
Around thee shall glisten the loveliest amber 
30 That ever the sorrowing sea-bird has wept ; 

With many a shell, in whose hollow-wreathed chamber 
We, Peris of ocean, by moonlight have slept. 

We '11 dive where the gardens of coral lie darkling. 
And plant all the rosiest stems at thy head ; 
35 Will seek where the sands of the Caspian are sparkling. 
And gather their gold to strew o'er thy bed. 

Farewell — farewell — until pity's sweet fountain 
Is lost in the hearts of the fair and the brave, 
They '11 weep for the chieftain who died on that mountain, 
40 They 'II weep for the maiden who sleeps in this wave. 

T. Moore. 



EX. XLVII.] RHETORICAL READING. 271 

EXERCISE XLVII. 

The Hill of Science. 

In that season of the year, when the serenity of the sky, 
the various fruits which cover the ground, the discolored 
foliage of the trees, and all the sweet but fading graces 
of inspiring autumn, open the mind to benevolence, and 
5 dispose it for contemplation, I was wandering in a beauti- 
ful and romantic country, till curiosity began to give way 
to weariness ; and I sat down on the fragment of a rock 
overgrown with moss, where the rustling of the falling 
leaves, the dashing of waters, and the hum of the distant 

10 city, soothed my mind into a most perfect tranquillity ; 
and sleep insensibly stole upon me, as I was indulging the 
agreeable reveries which the objects around me naturally 
inspired. 

I immediately found myself in a vast extended plain, in 

15 the middle of which arose a mountain higher than I had 
before any conception of. It was covered with a multi- 
tude of people, chiefly youth ; many of whom pressed for- 
ward with the liveliest expression of ardor in their coun- 
tenance, though the way was in many places steep and 

20 difficult. 

I observed that those who had but just begun to climb 
the hill thought themselves not far from the top ; but as 
they proceeded, new hills were continually rising to their 
view ; and the summit of the highest they could before 

25 discern seemed but the foot of another, till the mountain 
at length appeared to lose itself in the clouds. 

As I was gazing on these things with astonishment, a 
friendly instructor suddenly appeared : " The m.ountain 
before thee," said he, " is the Hill of Science. On the top 

30 is the temple of Truth, whose head is above the clouds, 
and a veil of pure light covers her face. Observe the pro- 
gress of her votaries; be silent and attentive." 

After I had noticed a variety of objects, I turned my 
eye towards the multitudes who were climbing the steep 

35 ascent ; and observed amongst them a youth of a lively 
look, a piercing eye, and something fiery and irregular in 
all his motions. His name was Genius. He darted like 
an eagle up the mountain, and left his companions gazing 
after him with envy and admiration ; but his progress was 

40 unequal, and interrupted by a thousand caprices. 

When Pleasure warbled in the valley, he mingled in her 



272 Parker's exercises in [ex. xlvii. 

train. When Pride beckoned towards the precipice, he 
ventured to the tottering edge. He delighted in devious 
and untried paths, and made so many excursions from the 
road, that his feebler companions often outstripped him. 
5 I observed that the Muses beheld him with partiaHty; but 
Truth often frowned, and turned aside her face. 

While Genius was thus wasting his strength in eccentric 
flights, I saw a person of very different appearance, named 
Application. He crept along with a slow and unremitting 

10 pace, his eyes fixed on the top of the mountain, patiently 
removing every stone that obstructed his way, till he saw 
most of those below him who had at first derided his slow 
and toilsome progress. 

Indeed, there were few who ascended the hill with equal 

15 and uninterrupted steadiness ; for, besides the difificulties 
of the way, they were continually solicited to turn aside, 
by a numerous crowd of appetites, passions and pleasures, 
whose importunity, when once complied with, they became 
less and less able to resist : and though they often returned 

20 to the path, the asperities of the road were more severely 
felt ; the hill appeared more steep and rugged ; the fruits, 
which were wholesome and refreshing, seemed harsh and 
ill-tasted; their sight grew dim, and their feet tript at 
every little obstruction. 

25 I saw with some surprise that the Muses, whose busi- 
ness was to cheer and encourage those who were toiling 
up the ascent, would often sing in the bowers of Pleasure, 
and accompany those who were enticed away at the call 
of the Passions. They accompanied them, however, but 

30 a little way; and always forsook them when they lost 
sight of the hill. The tyrants then doubled their chains 
upon the unhappy captives, and led them away, without 
resistance, to the cells of Ignorance, or the mansions of 
Misery. 

35 Amongst the innumerable seducers who were endeav- 
oring to draw away the votaries of Truth from the path 
of Science, there was one, so little formidable in her ap- 
pearance, and so gentle and languid in her attempts, that 
I should scarcely have taken notice of her, but for the 

40 numbers she had imperceptibly loaded with her chains. 
Indolence, (for so she was called,) far from proceeding to 
open hostilities, did not attempt to turn their feet out of 
the path, but contented herself with retarding their pro- 
gress ; and the purpose she could not force them to aban- 

45 don, she persuaded them to delay. 



EX. XLVII,] RHETORICAL READING. 273 

Her touch had a power like that of the torpedo, which 
withered the strength of those who came within its influ- 
ence. Her unhappy captives still turned their faces tow- 
ards the temple, and always hoped to arrive there ; but the 

5 ground seemed to slide from beneath their feet, and they 
found themselves at the bottom before they suspected 
they had changed their place. 

The placid serenity which at first appeared in their 
countenance changed by degrees into a melancholy lan- 

10 guor, which was tinged with deeper and deeper gloom as 
they glided down the stream of Insignificance ; a dark and 
sluggish water, w^hich is curled by no breeze, and enlight- 
ened by no murmur, till it falls into a dead sea, where 
startled passengers are awakened by the shock, and the 

15 next moment buried in the gulf of Oblivion. 

Of all the unhappy deserters from the paths of Science, 
none seemed less able to return than the follow^ers of Indo- 
lence. The captives of Appetite and Passion would often 
seize the moment when their tyrants were languid or 

20 asleep, to escape from their enchantment ; but the domin- 
ion of Indolence was constant and unremitted, and seldom 
resisted, till resistance was in vain. 

After contemplating these things, I turned my eyes tow- 
ards the top of the mountain, where the air was always 

25 pure and exhilarating, the path shaded with laurels and 

evergreens, and the effulgence which beamed from the 

face of Science seemed to shed a glory round her votaries. 

Happy, said I, are they who are permitted to ascend the 

mountain ! But while I was pronouncing this exclama- 

30 tion with uncommon ardor, I saw, standing beside me, a 
form of diviner features, and a more benign radiance. 
" Happier," said she, " are they whom Virtue conducts to 
the mansions of Content ! " 

" What ! " said I, " does Virtue then reside in. the vale ?" 

35 " I am found," said she, " in the vale, and I illuminate the 
mountain. I cheer the cottager at his toil, and inspire the 
sage at his meditation. I mingle in the crowd of cities, 
and bless the hermit in his cell. I have a temple in every 
heart that owns my influence, and to him that wishes for 

40 me I am already present. Science may raise thee to emi- 
nence ; but I alone can guide thee to felicity ! " 

While Virtue was thus speaking, I stretched out my 
arms towards her, with a vehemence which broke my slum- 
ber. The chill dews were falling around me, and the 



274 Parker's exercises in [ex. xlviii. 

shades of evening stretched over the landscape. I hastened 
homeward, and resigned the night to silence and medita- 
tion. — Aikin. 



EXERCISE XLYin. 

The Passions. — An Ode. 

When Music, heavenly maid, was young, 
5 While yet in early Greece she sung, 

The passions oft, to hear her shell, 
Thronged around her magic cell. 
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting, 
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting. 

10 By turns they felt the glowing mind 

Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined ; 

Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired, 
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired. 
From the supporting myrtles round 

15 They snatched her instruments of sound, 

And, as they oft had heard apart 
Sweet lessons of her forceful art, 
Each (for madness ruled the hour) 
Would prove his own expressive power. 

20 First Fear, his hand, its skill to try, 

Amid the chords bewildered laid ; 
And back recoiled, he knew not why, 
Even at the sound himself had made. 
Next Anger rushed : his eyes on fire. 

25 In lightnings owned his secret stings : 

In one rude clash he struck the lyre. 
And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. 

With woful measures, wan Despair — 
Low, sullen sounds his grief beguiled : 

30 A solemn, strange and mingled air ; 

'T was sad by fits — by starts 't was wild. 

But thou, Hope ! with eyes so fair, 
What was thy delighted measure ? 
Still it whispered promised pleasure, 

35 And bade the lovely scene at distance hail ! 

Still would her touch the strain prolong, 
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, 
She called on Echo still through all her song 



EX. XLVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 275 

And where her sweetest theme she chose, 

A soft, responsive voice was heard at every close : 

And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved her golden hair. 
And longer had she sung — but, with a frown, 
6 Revenge impatient rose. 

He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down ; 

And, with a withering look, 

The war-denouncing trumpet took. 

And blew a blast so loud and dread, 
10 Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe : 
And ever and anon he beat 

The doubling drum, with furious heat ; 

And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, 

Dejected Pity, at his side, 
15 Her soal-subduing voice applied, 

Yet still he kept his wild, unaltered mien ; 

While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting trom 
his head. 
Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed ; 
20 Sad proofs of thy distressful state. 

Of different themes the veering song w^as mixed : 

And now, it courted Love ; now, raving, called on Hate. 
With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 

Pale Melancholy sat retired; 
25 And from her wild sequestered seat, 

In notes by distance made more sweet. 

Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul. 
And dashing soft, from rocks around, 

Bubbling runnels joined the sound ; 
80 Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole, 

Or o'er some haunted streams, with fond delay, 

(Round a holy calm diffusing, 

Love of peace and lonely musing,) 

In hollow murmurs died away. 
35 But, O, how altered was its sprightlier tone, 

When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue. 

Her bow across her shoulder slung, 

Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, 

Blew an inspiring air that dale and thicket rung. 
40 The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known. 

The oak-crowned Sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, 

Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen. 

Peeping from forth their alleys green : 

Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear ; 
45 And Sport leapt up and seized his beechen spear. 



276 Parker's exercises in [ex. xlix. 

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial ; 
He, with viny crown advancing, 
First to the lively pipe his hand addressed; 
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol, 
5 Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best. 

They would have thought who heard the strain 
They saw in Tempo's vale her native maids, 
Amid the festal-sounding shades, 
To some unwearied minstrel dancing; 
10 While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings. 

Love framed with Mirth a gay fantastic round, 
(Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,) 
And he, amidst his frolic play. 
As if he would the charming air repay, 
15 Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings. 

CoIUtis. 



EXERCISE XLIX. 

Adaptation of Christia7iity to the Intellectual Wants of Man. 

Christianity is adapted to the intellect, because it puts 
it in possession of a higher kind of knowledge than nature 
can give. It solves questions of a different order, and 
those, too, which man, as an intellectual being, most needs 

20 to have solved. 

There are plainly two classes of questions which we 
may ask concerning the works of God ; and concerning 
one of these philosophy is profoundly silent. One class 
respects the relation of the different parts of a constituted 

25 whole to each other and to that whole. The other respects 
the ultimate design of the whole itself. 

In the present state of science, questions of the first class 
can generally be answered with a good degree of satisfac- 
tion. Man existing, the philosopher can tell the number 

30 of bones, and muscles, and blood-vessels, and nerves, in 
his body, and the uses of all these. He may, perhaps, tell 
how the stomach digests, and the heart beats, and the 
glands secrete; but of the great purpose for which man 
himself was made he can know nothing. 

35 But this knowledge Christianity gives. It attributes to 
God a purpose worthy of him ; one that satisfies the 
intellect and the heart ; and the knowledge of this must 
modify our views of all history, and of the whole drama 



EX. XLIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 277 

of human life. It gives us a new stand-point, from which 
we see everything in different relations and proportions. 
We had seen the river before on which we were sailing ; 
now we see the ocean. 
5 Entirely different must be the relation of man to God, 
both as an intellectual and a practical being, when he 
knows his plans and can intelligently cooperate with him. 
He now comes, in the language of our Saviour, into the 
relation of a friend. Surely no one can think lightly of 

10 the influence of this on the intellect. 

From the arguments now stated we infer that Chris- 
tianity is adapted to the intellect; and these arguments are 
confirmed by fact. No book, not nature itself, has ever 
waked up intellectual activity like the Bible. On the bat- 

15 tie-field of truth, it has ever been around this that the con- 
flict has raged. What book besides ever caused the writing 
of so many other books ? Take from the libraries of Chris- 
tendom all those which have sprung, I will not say indi- 
rectly, but directly, from it, — those written to oppose, or 

20 defend, or elucidate it, — and how would they be dimin- 
ished ! 

The very multitude of infidel books is a witness to the 
power with which the Bible stimulates, the intellect. Why 
do we not see the same amount of active intellect coming up 

25 and dashing and roaring around the Koran ? And the result 
of this activity is such as we might anticipate. The gen- 
eral intellectual, as well as moral, superiority of Christian 
nations, and that, too, in proportion as they have had a 
pure Christianity, stands otit in too broad a sunlight to be 

30 questioned or obscured. 

Wherever the word of God has really entered, it has 
given light — light to individuals, light to communities. 
It has favored literature ; and by means of it alone has 
society been brought up to that point at which it has been 

35 able to construct the apparatus of physical science, and to 
carry its investigations to the point which they have now 
reached. 

The instruments of a well-furnished astronomical observ- 
atory presuppose accumulations of wealth, and the exist- 

40 ence of a class of arts, and of men, that could be the prod- 
uct only of Christian civilization. Accordingly, we find, 
whatever may be said of literature, that physical science, 
except in Christian countries, has after a time either be- 
come stationary, or begun to recede ; and there is no rea- 
24 



278 Parker's exercises in [ex. l. 

son for supposing that the path of indefinite progress 
which now lies before it could have been opened except in 
connection with Christianity. 

Individual men, who reject Christianity, and yet live 

5 within the general sphere of its influence, may distinguish 

themselves in science ; they have done so ; but it has been 

on grounds and conditions furnished by that very religion 

which they have rejected. 

Christianity furnishes no new faculties, no direct power 

10 to the intellect, but a general condition of society favorable 
to its cultivation ; and it is not to be wondered at, if, in 
such a state of things, men who seek intellectual distinc- 
tion solely, rejecting the moral restraints of Christianity, 
should distinguish themselves by intellectual effort. 

15 But if there is this adaptation of Christianity to the in- 
tellect, ought not they who are truly Christians to distin- 
guish themselves above others in literature and science ? 
This does not follow. Up to a certain point, Christianity 
in the heart will certainly give clearness and strength to 

20 the intellect ; and cases are not wanting in which the in- 
tellectual powers have been surprisingly roused through 
the action of the moral nature, and of the affections, 
awakened by the religion of Christ. 

But when we consider that the change produced by 

25 Christianity is a moral change ; that the objects it presents 
are moral objects ; that it presents this world as needing 
not so much to be enlightened in the more abstract sci- 
ences, or to be delighted with the refinements of literature, 
as to be rescued from moral pollution, and to be won back 

80 to God; — perhaps we ought not to be surprised if it has 
caused many to be absorbed in labors of an entirely dif- 
ferent kind, who would otherwise have trodden the high- 
est walks of science. — President Hopkins. 



EXERCISE L. 

Hymn on the Seasons. 

These, as they change. Almighty Father, these 
35 Are but the varied God. The rolling year 

Is full of Thee. Forth in the pleasing Spring 
Thy beauty walks, Thy tenderness, and love. 
Wide flush the fields ; the softening air is balm ; 



EX. L.] RHETORICAL READLNG. 279 

Echo the mountains round : the forest smiles ; 

And every sense and every heart is joy. 

Then comes Thy glory in the Summer months, 

With light and heat refulgent. Then Thy sun 
5 Shoots full perfection through the swelling year : 

And oft Thy voice in dreadful thunder speaks ; 

And oft at dawn, deep noon, or falling eve, 

By brooks and groves, in hollow-whispering gales, 

Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfined, 
10 And spreads a common feast for all that live. 

In Winter awful Thou, with clouds and storms 

Around Thee thrown, tempest o'er tempest rolled. 

Majestic darkness ! on the whirlwind's wing, 

Riding sublime. Thou bidst the world adore, 
15 And humblest Nature with Thy northern blast. 

Mysterious round ! what skill, what force divine, 

Deep felt, in these appear! a simple train. 

Yet so delightful mixed, with such kind art. 

Such beauty and beneficence combined ; 
20 Shade, unperceived, so softening into shade ; 

And all so forming an harmonious whole. 

That, as they still succeed, they ravish still. 

But wandering oft, with brute unconscious gaze, 

Man marks not Thee, marks not the mighty hand, 
25 That, ever busy, wheels the silent sphere ; 

Works in the secret deep : shoots, steaming, thence 

The fair profusion that o'erspreads the Spring ; 

Flings from the sun direct the flaming day ; 

Feeds every creature ; hurls the tempest forth ; 
30 And, as on earth this grateful change revolves, 

With transport touches all the springs of life. 
Nature, attend ! join, every living soul 

Beneath the spacious temple of the sky, 

In adoration join ; and, ardent, raise 
35 One general song ! To Him, ye vocal gales, 

Breathe soft, whose spirit in your freshness breathes : 

O, talk of Him in solitary glooms ! 

Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine 

Fills the brown shade with a religious awe. 
40 And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar, 

Who shake the astonished world, lift high to heaven 

The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. 

His praise, ye brooks, attune, ye trembling rills ; 

And let me catch it as I muse along. 



280 Parker's exercises in [ex. 

Ye headlong torrents, rapid and profound ; 
Ye softer floods, that lead the humid maze 
Along the vale ; and thou, majestic main, 
A secret world of wonders in thyself, — 
5 Sound His stupendous praise : whose greater voice 
Or bids you roar or bids your roarings fall. 

Soft roll your incense, herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 
In mingled clouds to Him ; whose sun exalts, 
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints. 
10 Ye forests, bend ; ye harvests, wave to Him ; 
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart, 
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon. 

Ye that keep watch in heaven, as earth asleep 
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams, 
15 Ye constellations, while your angels strike, 
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. 

Great source of day ! best image here below 
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide. 
From world to world, the vital ocean round, 
20 On Nature write with every beam His praise. 

The thunder rolls : be hushed the prostrate world. 
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. 
Bleat out afresh, ye hills ; ye mossy rocks. 
Retain the sound : the broad responsive lowe, 
25 Ye valleys, raise ; for the Great Shepherd reigns, 
And his unsufFering kingdom yet will come. 

Ye woodlands all, awake : a boundless song 
Bursts from the groves ! and when the restless day, 
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, 
30 Sweetest of birds ! sweet Philomela, charm 

The listening shades, and teach the night His praise. 

Ye chief, for whom the whole creation smiles, 
At once the head, the heart, and tongue of all, 
Crown the great hymn ; in swarming cities vast, 
35 Assembled men, to the deep organ join 

The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear. 
At solemn pauses, through the swelling base ; 
And, as each mingling flame increases each, 
In one united ardor rise to heaven. 
40 Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, 
And find a fane in every sacred grove. 
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay, 
The prompting seraph, and the poet's lyre, 
Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. 



RHETORICAL READING. 



281 



For me, when I forget the darling theme, — 
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray 
Eussets the plain, inspiring Autumn gleams, 
Or Winter rises in the blackening east, — 
5 Be my tongue mute, my fancy paint no more, 
And, dead to joy, forget my heart to beat ! 

Should fate command me to the furthest verge 
Of the green earth, to distant barbarous clim.es, 
Rivers unknown to song; where first the sun 

10 Gilds Indian mountains, or his setting beam 

Flames on the Atlantic isles ; 't is nought to me ; 

Since God is ever present, ever felt, 

In the void waste as in the city full : 

And w^here He vital breathes there must be joy. 

15 When even at last the solemn hour shall come, 
And wing my mystic flight to future w^orlds, 
I cheerful will obey ; there, with new powers, 
Will rising wonders sing. I cannot go 
Where Universal Love not smales around, 

20 Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; 
From seeming Evil still educing Good, 
And better thence again, and better still, 
In infinite progression. But I lose- 
Myself in Him, in Light ineffable ! 

25 Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise. 

Thomson. 



EXERCISE LI. 
The Blind Man restored to Sight. 

[From the Gospel of St. John, Chap. 9.] 

And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man which was blind 
from his birth. And his disciples asked him, saying, 
Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was 
born blind ? 
30 Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his 
parents : but that the works of God should be made man- 
ifest in him. I must w^ork the works of him that sent 
me, while it is day : the night cometh when no man can 
work. As long as I am in the world, I ami the light of 
35 the world. 

When he had thus spoken, he spat on the ground, and 
made clay of the spittle, and he anointed the eyes of the 
24=^ 



282 Parker's exercises in [ex. li. 

blind man with the clay, and said unto him, Go, wash in 
the pool of Siloam, (which is, by interpretation, Sent.) 
He went his way, therefore, and washed, and came seeing. 
The neighbors, therefore, and they which before had 
5 seen him that he was blind, said. Is not this he that sat 
and begged ? Some said, This is he : others said, He is 
like him : but he said, I am he. 

Therefore said they unto him. How were thine eyes 
opened? He answered and said, A man that is called 

10 Jesus made clay, and anointed mine eyes, and said unto 
me, Go to the pool of Siloam, and wash : and I went and 
washed, and I received sight. Then said they unto him, 
Where is he ? He said, I know not. 

They brought to the Pharisees him that aforetime was 

15 blind. And it was the Sabbath-day when Jesus made the 
clay, and opened his eyes. Then again the Pharisees 
also asked him how he had received his sight. He said 
unto them, He put clay upon mine eyes, and I washed, 
and do see. Therefore said some of the Pharisees, This 

20 man is not of God, because he keepeth not the Sabbath- 
day, Others said, How can a man that is a sinner do 
such miracles ? 

And there was a division among them. They say unto 
the blind man again, What sayest thou of him, that he 

25 hath opened thine eyes ? He said. He is a prophet. 

But the Jews did not believe concerning him, that he 
had been blind, and received his sight, until they called 
the parents of him that had received his sight. And they 
asked them, saying. Is this your son, whom ye say was 

80 born blind ? How then doth he now see ? His parents 
answered them and said. We know that this is our son, 
and that he was born blind : but by what means he now 
seeth, we know not ; or who hath opened his eyes, we 
know not: he is of age, ask him: he shall speak for 

35 himself. 

These words spake his parents, because they feared the 
Jews : for the Jews had agreed already, that if any man 
did confess that he was Christ, he should be put out of the 
synagogue. Therefore said his parents, He is of age; 

40 ask him. 

Then again called they the man that was blind, and 
said unto him. Give God the praise ; we know that this 
man is a sinner. He answered and said. Whether he be 
a sinner or no, I know not : one thing I know, that, where- 

45 as I was blind, now I see. 



EX, LII,] RHETORICAL READING. 283 

Then said they to him again, What did he to thee ? 
How opened he thine eyes ? He answered them, I have 
told you already, and ye did not hear : wherefore Avould 
ye hear it again ? will ye also be his disciples ? Then 
5 they reviled him, and said, Thou art his disciple ; but we 
are Moses' disciples. We know that God spake unto 
Moses ; as for this fellow, we know not from whence he is. 
The man answered and said unto them, Why, herein is 
a marvellous thing, that ye know not from whence he is, 

10 and yet he hath opened mine eyes. Now we know that 
God heareth not sinners : but if any man be a worshipper 
of God, and doeth his will, him he heareth. Since the 
world began was it not heard that any man opened the 
eyes of one that was born blind. If this man were not 

15 of God, he could do nothing. 

They answered and said unto him. Thou wast altogeth- 
er born in sins, and dost thou teach us ? And they cast 
him out. Jesus heard that they had cast him out : and 
when he had found him, he said unto him. Dost thou be- 

20 lieve on the Son of God ? He answered and said, Who 
is he, Lord, that I might believe on him ? And Jesus said 
unto him. Thou hast both seen him, and it is he that 
talketh with thee. And he said, Lord, I believe. And 
he worshipped him. 

25 And Jesus said, For judgment I am come into this 
world ; that they which see not might see, and that they 
which see might be made blind. And some of the Phar- 
isees which were with him heard these words, and said 
unto him. Are we blind also ? Jesus said unto them, If 

80 ye were blind, ye should have no sin : but now ye say, 
We see ; therefore your sin remaineth. 



EXERCISE LH. 
Picture of a Distinguished Poet. 

Admire the goodness of Almighty God ! 
He riches gave, He intellectual strength 
To few, and therefore none commands to be 
35 Or rich, or learned; nor promises reward 
Of peace to these. On all He moral worth 
Bestowed; and moral tribute asked from all. 

And who that could not pay ? who born so poor, 



284 Parker's lessons in [ex. lh 

Of intellect so mean, as not to know 

What seemed the best ; and, knowing, might not do ? , 

As not to know what God and conscience bade, 

And what they bade not able to obey ? 
5 And he who acted thus fulfilled the law 

Eternal, and its promise reaped of peace ; 

Found peace this way alone : who sought it else, 

Sought mellow grapes beneath the icy pole ; 

Sought blooming roses on the cheek of death ; 
10 Sought substance in a world of fleeting shades. 
Take one example ; to our purpose quite. 

A man of rank, and of capacious soul ; 

Who riches had, and fame beyond desire ; 

An heir of flattery, to titles born, 
15 And reputation, and luxurious life. 

Yet, not content with ancestorial name, 

Or to be known because his fathers were, 

He on this height hereditary stood. 

And gazing higher, purposed in his heart 
20 To take another step. 

Above him seemed 

Alone the mount of song — the lofty seat 

Of canonized bards ; and thitherward, 

By nature taught, and inward melody, 
25 In prime of youth he bent his eagle eye. 

No cost was spared. What books he wished, he read; 

What sage to hear, he heard ; what scenes to see, 

He saw. And first, in rambling school-boy days, 

Britannia's mountain-walks, and heath-girt lakes, 
30 And story-telling glens, and founts, and brooks ; 

And maids, as dew-drops pure and fair, his soul 

With grandeur filled, and melody and love. 

Then travel came, and took him where he wished ; 

He cities saw, and courts, and princely pomp ; 
85 And mused alone on ancient mountain brows ; 

And mused on battle-fields, where valor fought 

In other days; and mused on ruins gray 

With years ; and drank from old and fabulous wells, 

And plucked the vine that first-born prophets plucked, 
40 And mused on famous tombs ; and on the wave 

Of ocean mused ; and on the desert waste. 

The heavens and earth of every country saw : 

Where'er the old inspiring Genii dwelt. 

Aught that could rouse, expand, refine the soul, 
45 Thither he went, and meditated there. 



EX. lil] rhetorical reading. 285 

He touched his harp, and nations heard, entranced. 
As some vast river of unfailing source, 
Rapid, exhaustless, deep, his numbers flowed, 
And oped new fountains in the human heart. 

• Where fancy halted, weary in her flight. 
In other men, his fresh as morning rose. 
And soared untrodden heights, and seemed at home, 
Where angels bashful looked. 

Others, though great, 

10 Beneath their argument seemed struggling ; whiles 
He, from above descending, stooped to touch 
The loftiest thought ; and proudly stooped, as though 
It scarce deserved his verse. 

With Nature's self 

15 He seemed an old acquaintance, free to jest 
At will with all her glorious majesty. 
He laid his hand upon " the ocean's mane,"^ 
And played familiar with his hoary locks. 
Stood on the Alps, stood on the Appenines, 

20 And with the thunder talked, as friend to friend ; 
And wove his garland of the lightning's wing, 
In sportive twist — the lightning's fiery wing. 
Which as the footsteps of the dreadful God, 
Marching upon the storm in vengeance seemed — 

25 Then turned, and with the grasshopper, who sung 
His evening song beneath his feet, conversed. 

Suns, moons and stars, and clouds, his sisters were ; 
Rocks, mountains, meteors, seas, and winds and storms, 
His brothers — younger brothers, whom he scarce 

30 As equals deemed. 

All passions of all men — 
The wild and tame, the gentle and severe ; 
All thoughts, all maxims, sacred and profane ; 
All creeds; all seasons, Time, Eternity; 

35 All that was hated, and all that was dear; 

All that was hoped, all that was feared by man, — 
He tossed about, as tempest-withered leaves. 
Then smiling, looked upon the wreck he made. 
With terror now he froze the cowering blood ; 

40 And now dissolved the heart in tenderness : 

Yet would not tremble, would not weep, himself; 

* This allusion to a line of Lord Byron's Apostrophe to the Ocean plainly 
indicates that the poet had him clearly in view, in this description. The sub- 
sequent lines also allude to passages m "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage," 



286 Parker's lessons in [ex. lh. j 

But back into his soul retired, alone, 

Dark, sullen, proud : gazing contemptuously 

On hearts and passions prostrate at his feet. 

So Ocean from the plains, his waves had late 
5 To desolation swept, retired in pride, 

Exulting in the glory of his might. 

And seemed to mock the ruin he had wrought. 
As some fierce comet of tremendous size. 

To which the stars did reverence as it passed, 
10 So he through learning, and through fancy, took 

His flight sublime ; and on the loftiest top 

Of Fame's dread mountain sat : not soiled and worn, 

As if he from the earth had labored up — 

But as some bird of heavenly plumage fair 
15 He looked, which down from higher regions came, 

And perched it there, to see what lay beneath. 

The nations gazed, and wondered much, and praised. 

Critics before him fell in humble plight ; 

Confounded fell, and made debasing signs 
20 To catch his eye ; and stretched and swelled themselves 

To bursting nigh, to utter bulky words 

Of admiration vast : and many too, 

Many that aimed to imitate his flight. 

With weaker wing, unearthly fluttering made, 
25 And gave abundant sport to after days. 

Great man ! the nations gazed, and wondered much 

And praised : and many called his evil good. 

Wits wrote in favor of his wickedness ; 

And kings to do him honor took delight. 
30 Thus, full of titles, flattery, honor, fame, — 

Beyond desire, beyond ambition, full, — 

He died — he died of what ? Of wretchedness ! 

Drank every cup of joy, heard every trump 

Of fame; drank early, deeply drank; drank draughts 
35 That common millions might have quenched — then died 

Of thirst, because there was no more to drink. 

His goddess. Nature — wooed, embraced, enjoyed — 

Fell from his arms abhorred ; his passions died ; 

Died all but dreary, solitary pride : 
40 And all his sympathies in being died. 

As some ill-guided bark, well built and tall, 

Which angry tides cast out on desert shore, 

And then, retiring, left it there to rot 

And moulder in the winds and rains of heaven : 



EX. liil] rhetorical reading. 287 

So he, cut from the sympathies of life, 

And cast ashore frrim Pleasure's boisterous surge — 

A wandering, weary, worn, and wretched thing; 

Scorched and desolate, and blasted soul ; 
6 A gloomy wilderness of dying thought — 

Repined, and groaned, and withered from the earth. 

His groanings filled the land his numbers filled : 

And yet he seemed ashamed to groan. Poor man ! 

Ashamed to ask, and yet he needed help. 
10 Proof this, beyond all lingering of doubt, 

That not with natural or mental wealth 

Was God delighted, or his peace secured: 

That not in natural or mental wealth 

Was human happiness or grandeur found. 
15 Attempt how monstrous ! and how surely vain ! 

With things of earthly sort, with aught but God, 

With aught but moral excellence, truth and love, 

To satisfy and fill the immortal soul ! 

Attempt, vain inconceivably ! attempt 
20 To satisfy the ocean with a drop ; 

To marry Immortality to Death ; 

And with the unsubstantial shade of Time 

To fill the embrace of all Eternity ! 

Folloc'k's Course of Time. 



EXERCISE LIII. 

The Grotto of Antiparos. 

Of all the subterraneous caverns now known, the grotto 
25 of Antiparos is the most remarkable, as well for its extent 
as for the beauty of its sparry incrustations. This cele- 
brated cavern was first explored by one Magni, an Italian 
traveller, about one hundred years ago, at Antiparos, an 
inconsiderable island of the Archipelago. 
30 " Having been informed," says he, " by the natives of 
Paros, that, in the little island of Antiparos, which lies 
about two miles from the former, a gigantic statue was to 
be seen at the mouth of a cavern in that place, it was re- 
solved that we (the French consul and himself) should 
35 pay it a visit. 

" In pursuance of this resolution, after we had landed 



288 Parker's lessons in [ex. liii. 

on the island, and walked about four miles through the 
midst of beautiful plains, and sloping woodlands, we at 
length came to a little hill, on the side of which yawned a 
most horrid cavern, which, by its gloom, at first struck us 
5 with terror, and almost repressed curiosity. Recovering 
the first surprise, however, we entered boldly, and had not 
proceeded above twenty paces, when the supposed statue 
of the giant presented itself to our view. 

" We quickly perceived that what the ignorant natives 

10 had been terrified at as a giant was nothing more than a 
sparry concretion, formed by the water dropping from the 
roof of the cave, and by degrees hardening into a figure, 
which their fears had formed into a m.onster. Incited by 
this extraordinary appearance, we were induced to proceed 

15 still further, in quest of new adventures, in this subterra- 
nean abode. 

" As we proceeded, new wonders offered themselves ; the 
spars, formed into trees and shrubs, presented a kind of 
petrified grove ; some white, some green ; and all reced- 

20 ing in due perspective. They struck us with the more 
amazement, as we knew them to be mere productions of 
nature, who, hitherto in solitude, had, in her playful mo- 
ments, dressed the scene as if for her own amusement. 
"We had as yet seen but a few of the wonders of the 

25 place ; and we were introduced only into the portico of 
this amazing temple. In one corner of this half-illumin- 
ated recess, there appeared an opening of about three feet 
wide, which seemed to lead to a place totally dark, and 
which one of the natives assured us contained nothing 

30 more than a reservoir of water. 

" Upon this information, we made an experiment, by 
throwing down some stones, which rumbling along the 
sides of the descent for some time, the sound seemed at 
last quashed in a bed of water. In order, however, to be 

35 more certain, we sent in a Levantine mariner, who, by 
the promise of a good reward, ventured, with a flambeau 
in his hand, into this narrow aperture. 

" After continuing within it for about a quarter of an 
hour, he returned, bearing in his hand some beautiful pieces 

40 of white spar, which art could neither equal nor imitate. 
Upon being informed by him that the place was full of 
these beautiful incrustations, I ventured in with him, about 
fifty paces, anxiously and cautiously descending, by a steep 
and dangerous way. 



EX. LIII.J RHETORICAL READING. 289 

" Finding-, however, that we came to a precipice which 
led into a spacious amphitheatre, (if I may so call it,) still 
deeper than any other part, we returned, and being pro- 
vided with a ladder, flambeau, and other things to expedite 

5 our descent, our whole company, man by man, ventured 
into the same opening : and, descending one after another, 
we at last saw ourselves all together in the most magnifi- 
cent part of the cavern. 

" Our candles being now all lighted up, and the whole 

10 place completely illuminated, never could the eye be pre- 
sented with a more glittering or a more magnificent scene. 
The whole roof hung with solid icicles, transparent as 
glass, yet solid as marble. 

" The eye could scarcely reach the lofty and noble ceil- 

15 ing ; the sides were regularly formed with spars ; and the 
whole presented the idea of a magnificent theatre, illum- 
inated with an immense profusion of lights. The floor 
consisted of solid marble ; and, in several places, magnifi- 
cent columns, thrones, altars, and other objects, appeared, 

20 as if nature had designed to mock the curiosities of art. 

" Our voices, upon speaking or singing, were redoubled 
to an astonishing loudness ; and upon the firing of a gun, 
the noise and reverberations were almost deafening. In 
the midst of this grand amphitheatre rose a concretion of 

25 about fifteen feet high, that, in some measure, resembled 
an altar ; from which, taking the hint, we caused mass to 
be celebrated there. The beautiful columns that shot up 
round the altar appeared like candlesticks; and many 
other natural objects represented the customary ornaments 

30 of this rite. 

" Below even this spacious grotto, there seemed another 
cavern ; down which I ventured, with my former mariner, 
and descended about fifty paces, by means of a rope. I at 
last arrived at a small spot of level ground, where the bot- 

35 tom appeared different from that of the amphitheatre, be- 
ing composed of soft clay, yielding to the pressure, and in 
which I thrust a stick to the depth of six feet. 

" In this, however, as above, numbers of the most beau- 
tiful crystals were formed; one of which, particularly, 

40 resembled a table. Upon our egress from this amazing 
cavern, we perceived a Greek inscription upon a rock at 
the mouth, but so obliterated by time that we could not 
read it distinctly. It seemed to import that one Antipater, 
in the time of Alexander, had come hither ; but whether 
25 



290 Parker's exercises in [ex. liv. 

he penetrated into the depths of the cavern, he does not 
think fit to inform us." This account of so beautiful and 
striking a scene may serve to give us some idea of the 
subterraneous wonders of nature. — Goldsmith. 



EXERCISE LIY. 

The Past. 

5 Thou unrelenting Past ! 

Strong are the barriers round thy dark domain, 
And fetters sure and fast 
Hold all that enter thy unbreathing reign. 
Far in thy realm v^ithdrawn, 
10 Old empires sit in sullenness and gloom, 
And glorious ages gone 
Lie deep within the shadow of thy womb. 

Childhood, with all its mirth, 
Youth, manhood, age, that draws us to the ground 
15 And last, man's life on earth, 

Glide to thy dim dominions, and are bound. 

Thou hast my better years, 
Thou hast my earlier friends — the good, the kind. 
Yielded to thee with tears — 
20 The venerable form, the exalted mind. 
My spirit yearns to bring 
The lost ones back — yearns with desire intense, 
And struggles hard to wring 
Thy bolts apart, and pluck thy captives thence. 
25 In vain ; — thy gates deny 

All passage, save to those who hence depart; 
Nor to the streaming eye 

Thou giv'st them back — nor to the broken heart. 
In thy abysses hide 
30 Beauty and excellence unknown — to thee 
Earth's wonder and her pride 
Are gathered, as the waters to the sea ; 

Labors of good to man, 
Unpublished charity, unbroken faith, — 
35 Love, that 'midst grief began, 

And grew with years and faltered not in death. 

Full many a mighty name 
Lurks in thy depths, unuttered, unrevered ; 



EX. LV.] RHETORICAL READING. 291 

With thee are silent fame, 

Forgotten arts, and wisdom disappeared. 

Thine for a space are they — 
Yet shalt thou yield thy treasures up at last ; 
5 Thy gates shall yet give way, 

Thy bolts shall fall, inexorable Past ! 

All that of good and fair 
Has gone into thy womb from earliest time 
Shall then come forth to wear 
10 The glory and the beauty of its prime. 
They have not perished — no ! 
Kind words, remembered voices, once so sweet, 
Smiles, radiant long ago. 
And features, the great soul's apparent seat. 
15 All shall come back; each tie 

Of pure affection shall be knit again ; 
Alone shall Evil die. 

And Sorrow dwell a prisoner, in thy reign. 
And then shall I behold 
20 Him by whose kind paternal side I sprung. 
And her, who, still and cold. 
Fills the next grave — the beautiful and young. 

Bryant. 



LESSON LV. 

Extract from an Oration pronounced by the Speaker of the 
House of Representatives of the United States ^ July 4:th, 
1848, on the occasion of laying the corner-stone of the 
National Monument to the memory of Washington. 

Fellow-citizens : — While we thus commend the char- 
acter and example of Washington to others, let us not 

25 forget to imitate it ourselves. I have spoken of the pre- 
cise period which we have reached in our own history, as 
w^ell as in that of the world at large, as giving something 
of peculiar interest to the proceedings in which we are 
engaged. 

30 I may not, I will not, disturb the harmony of the scene 
before me by the slightest allusion of a party character. 
The circumstances of the occasion forbid it ; the associa- 
tions of the day forbid it ; the character of him in whose 
honor we are assembled forbids it ; my own feelings revolt 

35 from it. But I may say, I must say, and every one within 



292 ' parkeh's exercises in [ex. lv. 

the sound of my voice will sustain me in saying, that 
there has been no moment since Washington himself was 
among us, when it was more important than at this mo- 
ment, that the two great leading principles of his policy 
5 should be remembered and cherished. 

Those principles were, first, the most complete, cordial, 
and indissoluble union of the states ; and, second, the most 
entire separation and disentanglement of our own country 
from all other countries. Perfect union among ourselves, 

10 perfect neutrality towards others, and peace, peace, domes- 
tic peace and foreign peace, as the result; this was the 
chosen and consummate policy of the father of iiis country. 
But above all, and before all, in the heart of Wash- 
ington, was the union of the states ; and no opportunity 

15 was ever omitted by him to impress upon his fellow- 
citizens the profound sense which he entertained of its 
vital importance at once to their prosperity and their 
liberty. 

In that incomparable address in which he bade farewell 

20 to his countrymen at the close of his presidential service, 
he touched upon many other topics with the earnestness 
of a sincere conviction. He called upon them, in solemn 
terms, to "cherish public credit;" to "observe good faith 
and justice towards all nations," avoiding both " inveterate 

25 antipathies and passionate attachments " towards any ; to 
mitigate and assuage the unquenchable fire of party spirit, 
" lest, instead of warming, it should consume ;" to abstain 
from " characterizing parties by geographical distinc- 
tions ;" "to promote institutions for the general diffusion 

30 of knowledge ;" to respect and uphold " religion and mo- 
rality; those great pillars of human happiness, those 
firmest props of the duties of men and of citizens." 

But what can exceed, what can equal, the accumulated 
intensity of thought and of expression with which he calls 

35 upon them to cling to the union of the states. "It is of 
infinite moment," says he, in language which we ought 
never to be weary of hearing or of repeating, " that you 
should properly estimate the immense value of your Na- 
tional Union to your collective and individual happiness ; 

40 that you should cherish a cordial, habitual, immovable 
attachment to it; accustoming yourselves to think and 
speak of it as of the palladium of your pohtical safety and 
prosperity; watching for its preservation with jealous 
anxiety ; discountenancing whatever may suggest even a 



EX. LV. RHETORICAL READING. 293 

^ suspicion that it can, in any event, be abandoned ; and 

indignantly frowning upon the first dawning of every 

attempt to alienate any portion of our country from the 

rest, or to enfeeble the sacred ties which now link together 

5 the various parts." 

The Union, the Union in any event, was thus the senti- 
ment of Washington. The Union, the Union in any 
event, — let it be our sentiment this day ! 

Yes, to-day, fellow-citizens, at the very moment when 

10 the extension of our boundaries and the multiplication of 
our territories are producing, directly and indirectly, among 
the different members of our political system, so many 
marked and mourned centrifugal tendencies, let us seize 
this occasion to renew to each other our vows of alle- 

15 giance and devotion to the American Union, and let us 
recognize in our com.mon title to the name and the fame 
of Washington, and in our common veneration for his 
example and his advice, the all-sufficient centripetal power, 
which shall hold the thick clustering stars of our confed-. 

20 eracy in one glorious constellation forever! Let the 
column which we are about to construct be at once a 
pledge and an emblem of perpetual union ! Let the found- 
ations be laid, let the superstructure be built up and 
cemented, let each stone be raised and riveted, in a spirit 

25 of national brotherhood ! And may the earliest ray of 
the rising sun — till that sun shall set to rise no more — 
draw forth from it daily, as from the fabled statue of 
antiquity, a strain of national harmony, which shall 
strike a responsive chord in every heart throughout the 

30 republic ! 

Proceed, then, fellow-citizens, with the work for which 
you have assembled ! Lay the corner-stone of a monu- 
ment which shall adequately bespeak the gratitude of the 
whole American people to the illustrious father of his 

35 country ! Build it to the skies ; you cannot outreach the 
loftiness of his principles ! Found it upon the massive 
and eternal rock ; you cannot make it more enduring than 
his fame ! Construct it of the peerless Parian marble ; 
you cannot make it purer than his life ! Exhaust upon it 

40 the rules and principles of ancient and of modern art; 

you cannot make it more proportionate than his character ! 

But let not your homage to his memory end here.. 

Think not to transfer to a tablet or a column the tribute 

which is due from yourselves. Just honor to Washing- 

25^ 



294 Parker's exercises in [ex. lvi. 

ton can only be rendered by observing- his precepts and 
imitating his example. Similitudine decoremus. He has 
built his own monument. We, and those who come after 
us in successive generations, are its appointed, its privi- 
5 leged guardians. This wide-spread republic is the true 
monument to Washington. Maintain its independence. 
Uphold its constitution. Preserve its Union. Defend its 
liberty. Let it stand before the world in all its original 
strength and beauty, securing peace, order, equality and 

10 freedom, to all within its boundaries, and shedding light 
and hope and joy upon the pathway of human liberty 
throughout the world, — and Washington needs no other 
monument. Other structures may fitly testify our vener- 
ation for him; this, this alone, can adequately illustrate 

15 his services to mankind. 

Nor does he need even this. The republic may perish ; 
the wide arch of our ranged union may fall ; star by star 
its glories may expire ; stone after stone its columns and 
its capitol may moulder and crumble ; all other names 

20 which adorn its annals may be forgotten ; but as long as 
human hearts shall anywhere pant, or human tongues 
shall anywhere plead, for a true, rational, constitutional 
liberty, those hearts shall enshrine the memory, and those 
tongues shall prolong the fame, of George Washington ! 

Hon. R. C. Winthrop. 



EXERCISE LVI. 
Winter Scenes. 

25 See, Winter comes, to rule the varied year, 
Sullen and sad, with all his rising train — 
Vapors, and clouds, and storms. Be these my theme, 
These, that exalt the soul to solemn thought, 
And heavenly musing. 

30 Welcome, kindred glooms ! 

Congenial horrors, hail ! with frequent foot, 
Pleased have I, in my cheerful morn of life, 
When nursed by careless Solitude I lived, 
And sung of Nature with unceasing joy, 

85 Pleased have I wandered through your rough domain ; 
Trod the pure virgin snows, myself as pure ; 
Heard the winds roar, and the big torrent burst ; 



EX. LVI .] RHETORICAL READING. 295 

Or seen the deep-fermenting tempest brewed. 
In the grim evening sky. 

Thus passed the time, 
Till through the lucid chambers of the south 
5 Looked out the joyous spring, — looked out, and smiled. 

4^ .i£- 4£* Jlt. .At. .4t- 

■Tf' -TV* •TV- Vf* •TV' 'TV' 

Now when the cheerless empire of the sky 

To Capricorn the Centaur Archer yields, 

And fierce Aquarius stains the inverted year ; 

Hung o'er the furthest verge of heaven, the sun 
10 Scarce spreads through ether the dejected day. 

Faint are his gleams, and ineffectual shoot 

His struggling rays, in horizontal lines. 

Through the thick air; as, clothed in cloudy storm, 

Weak, wan, and broad, he skirts the southern sky ; 
15 And, soon descending, to the long, dark night. 

Wide-shading all, the prostrate world resigns. 
Nor is the night unwished ; while vital heat, 

Light, life and joy, the dubious day forsake. 

Meantime, in sable cincture, shadows vast, 
20 Deep-tinged and damp, and congregated clouds, 

And all the vapory turbulence of heaven, 

Involve the face of things. 

Thus Winter falls, 

A heavy gloom oppressive o'er the world, 
25 Through Nature shedding influence malign, 

And rouses up the seeds of dark disease. 

The soul of man dies in him, loathing life, 

And black with more than melancholy views. 
The cattle droop ; and o'er the furrowed land, 
30 Fresh from the plough, the dun-discolored flocks, 

Untended spreading, crop the wholesome root. 

Along the woods, along the moorish fens. 

Sighs the sad Genius of the coming storm : 

And up among the loose disjointed cliffs, 
35 And fractured mountains wild, the brawling brook 

And cave presageful send a hollow moan. 

Resounding long in listening Fancy's ear. 
Then comes the father of the tempest forth. 

Wrapped in black glooms. First joyless rains obscure 
40 Drive through the mingling skies with vapor foul, 

Dash on the mountain's brow and shake the woods. 

That grumbling wave below. 



296 Parker's exercises in [ex. lvi. 

The unsightly plain 
Lies a brown deluge ; as the low-bent clouds 
Pour flood on flood, yet unexhausted still 
Combine, and, deepening into night, shut up 
5 The day's fair face. 

The wanderers of heaven 
Each to his home retire ; save those that love 
To take their pastime in the troubled air, 
Or skimming flutter round the dimply pool. 

10 The cattle from the untasted fields return. 

And ask, with meaning low, their wonted stalls, 
Or ruminate in the contiguous shade. 
Thither the household feathery people crowd, — 
The crested cock, with all his female train, 

15 Pensive and dripping; while the cottage hind 
• Hangs o'er the enlivening blaze, and taleful there 
Recounts his simple frolic ; much he talks, 
And much he laughs, nor recks the storm that blows 
Without, and rattles on his humble roof. 

20 Wide o'er the brim, with many a torrent swelled, 
And the mixed ruin of its banks o'erspread, 
At last the roused-up river pours along : 
Resistless, roaring, dreadful, down it comes, 
From the rude mountain, and the mossy wild, 

25 Tumbling through rocks abrupt, and sounding far ; 
Then o'er the sanded valley floating spreads. 
Calm, sluggish, silent ; till again, constrained 
Between two meeting hills, it bursts away, 
Where rocks and woods o'erhang the turbid stream ; 

30 There, gathering triple force, rapid and deep. 

It boils, and wheels, and foams, and thunders through. 

Nature ! great parent ! whose unceasing hand 
Rolls round the seasons of the changeful year, 
How mighty, how majestic, are thy works ! 

85 With what a pleasing dread they swell the soul, 
That sees astonished, and astonished sings ! 
Ye too, ye winds ! that now begin to blow 
With boisterous sweep, I raise my voice to you. 
Where are your stores, ye powerful beings ! say 

40 Where your ae'rial magazines reserved, 
To swell the brooding terrors of the storm ? 
In what far distant region of the sky, 
Hushed in deep silence, sleep ye when 't is calm ? 
When from the pallid sky the sun descends, 



EX. LVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 297 

With many a spot, that o'er his glaring orb 

Uncertain wanders, stained ; red fiery streaks 

Begin to flush around. The reeling clouds 

Stagger with dizzy poise, as doubting yet 
5 Which master to obey : while rising slow, 

Blank, in the leaden-colored east, the moon 

Wears a wan circle round her blunted horns. 
Seen through the turbid, fluctuating air, 

The stars obtuse emit a shivered ray ; 
10 Or frequent seem to shoot athwart the gloom, 

And long behind them trail the whitening blaze. 

Snatched in short eddies, plays the withered leaf; 

And on the flood the dancing feather floats. 
With broadened nostrils to the sky upturned, 
15 The conscious heifer snufls the stormy gale. 

E'en as the matron, at her nightly task. 

With pensive labor draws the flaxen thread, 

The wasted taper and the crackling flame 

Foretell the blast. 
20 But chief the plumy race, 

The tenants of the sky, its changes speak. 

Retiring fi'om the downs, where all day long 

They picked their scanty fare, a blackening train 

Of clamorous rooks thick urge their weary flight, 
25 And seek the closing shelter of the grove ; 

Assiduous, in his bower, the wailing owl 

Plies his sad song. 

The cormorant on high 

Wheels from the deep, and screams along the land. 
30 Loud shrieks the soaring hern ; and with wild wing 

The circling sea-fowl cleave the flaky clouds. 

Ocean, unequal pressed, with broken tide 

And blind commotion heaves ; while from the shore, 

Eat into caverns by the restless wave, 
35 And forest-rustling mountain, comes a voice. 

That solemn sounding bids the world prepare. 
Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst, 

And hurls the whole precipitated air 

Down in a torrent. On the passive main 
40 Descends the ethereal force, and with strong gust 

Turns from its bottom the discolored deep. 

Through the black night that sits immense around, 

Lashed into foam, the fierce conflicting brine 

Seems o'er a thousand raging waves to burn. " 



298 RHETORICAL READING. [EX. LVI. 

Meantime, the mountain billows, to the clouds 
In dreadful tumult swelled, surge above surge, 
Burst into chaos with tremendous roar, 
And anchored navies from their station drive, 
5 Wild as the winds, across the howling waste 
Of mighty waters : now the inflated wave 
Straining they scale, and now impetuous shoot 
Into the secret chambers of the deep. 
The wintry Baltic thundering o'er their head. 

10 Emerging thence again, before the breath 
Of full-exerted heaven they wing their course. 
And dart on distant coasts ; if some sharp rock 
Or shoal insidious break not their career. 
And in loose fragments fling them floating round. 

15 Nor less at land the loosened tempest reigns. 
The mountain thunders ; and its sturdy sons 
Stoop to the bottom of the rocks they shade. 
Lone on the midnight steep, and all aghast, 
The dark, wayfaring stranger breathless toils, 

20 And, often falling, climbs against the blast. 
Low waves the rooted forest, vexed, and sheds 
What of its tarnished honors yet remain ; 
Dashed down, and scattered, by the tearing wind's 
Assiduous fury, its gigantic limbs. 

25 Thus struggling through the dissipated grove. 
The whirling tempest raves along the plain ; 
And on the cottage thatched, or lordly roof. 
Keen-fastening, shakes them to the solid base. 
Sleep frighted flies ; and round the rocking dome, 

30 For entrance eager, howls the savage blast. 

ji^ j£- ^ jii. jA, ,ii, 

"A* W TV* •yf" -TV* ^ 

Huge uproar lords it wide. The clouds, commixed 
With stars swift gliding, sweep along the sky. 
All Nature reels. Till Nature's King, who oft 
85 Amid tempestuous darkness dwells alone, 
And on the wings of the careering wind 
Walks dreadfully serene, commands a calm ; 
Then, straight, air, sea and earth, are hushed at once 

As yet 't is midnight deep. The weary clouds, 
40 Slow-meeting, mingle into solid gloom. 

Now, while the drowsy world lies lost in sleep. 
Let me associate with the serious Night, 
And Contemplation, her sedate compeer ; 



EX. LVII.] PARKEK's exercises IN 299 

Let me shake off the intrusive cares of day, 

And lay the meddling senses all aside. 
Where now, ye lying vanities of life ! 

Ye ever-ternpting, ever-cheating train ! 
5 Where are you now ? and what is your amount ? — 

Vexation, disappointment, and remorse : 

Sad, sickening thought ! and yet, deluded man, 

A scene of crude disjointed visions past. 

And broken slumbers, rises, still resolved, 
10 With new-flushed hopes, to run the giddy round 
Father of light and life ! Thou Good Supreme ! 

O, teach me what is good ! teach me Thyself ! 

Save me from folly, vanity and vice. 

From every low pursuit I and feed my soul 
15 With knowledge, conscious peace, and virtue pure; 

Sacred, substantial, never-fading bliss I Tlwmson. 



EXERCISE LVII. 
The Punishment of a Liar. 

From the 2nd Book of Kings, Chapter V. 

Now Naaman, captain of the host of the King of Syria, 
was a great man with his master, and honorable, because 
by him the Lord had given deliverance unto Syria : he 
20 was also a mighty man in valor, but he was a leper. 

And the Syrians had gone out by companies, and had 

brought away captive out of the land of Israel a little 

maid ; and she waited on Naaman's wife. And she said 

unto her mistress, Would God my lord were with the 

25 prophet that is in Samaria ! for he would recover him of 

his leprosy. And one went in, and told his lord, saying. 

Thus and thus said the maid that is of the land of Israel. 

And the King of Syria said, Go to, go, and I will send 

a letter unto the King of Israel. And he departed, and 

80 took with him ten talents of silver, and six thousand pieces 

of gold, and ton changes of raiment. And he brought the 

• letter to the King of Israel, saying, Now when this letter 

is come unto thee, behold, I have therewith sent Naaman 

my servant to thee, that thou mayst recover him of his 

85 leprosy. 

And it came to pass, when the King of Israel had read 



300 RHETORICAL READING. [eX. LVII. 

the letter, that he rent his clothes, and said, Am I God, to 
kill and to make alive, that this man doth send unto me to 
recover a man of his leprosy ? Wherefore consider, I pray 
^'■ou, and see how he seeketh a quarrel against me. 
5 And it was so, when Elisha the man of God had heard 
that the King of Israel had rent his clothes, that he sent to 
the king, saying. Wherefore hast thou rent thy clothes ? 
let him come now to me, and he shall know that there is a 
prophet in Israel. 

10 So Naaman came with his horses and with his chariot, 
and stood at the door of the house of Elisha. And Elisha 
sent a messenger unto him, saying, Go and wash in Jordan 
seven times, and thy flesh shall come again to thee, and 
thou shalt be clean. 

15 But Naaman was wroth, and went away, and said, Be- 
hold, I thought, He will surely come out to me, and stand, 
and call on the name of the Lord his God, and strike his 
hand over the place, and recover the leper. Are not Aba- 
na and Pharpar, rivers of Damascus, better than all the 

20 waters of Israel ? may I not wash in them, and be clean ? 
So he turned and went away in a rage. 

And his servants came near, and spake unto him, and 

, said, My father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great 

thing, wouldst thou not have done it ? how much rather 

25 then, when he saith to thee. Wash and be clean. Then 
went he down, and dipped himself seven times in Jordan, 
according to the saying of the man of God : and his Hesh 
came again like unto the flesh of a little child, and he was 
clean. 

30 And he returned to the man of God, he and all his 
company, and came and stood before him : and he said, 
Behold, now I know that there is no God in all the earth, 
but in Israel : now therefore, I pray thee take a blessing 
of thy servant. But he said, As the Lord liveth, before 

35 whom I stand, I will receive none. And he urged him to 
take it ; but he refused. 

And Naaman said, Shall there not then, I pray thee, be 
given to thy servant two mules' burden of earth ? for thy 
servant will henceforth offer neither burnt-offering nor sac- 

40 rifice unto other gods, but unto the Lord. In this thing 
the Lord pardon thy servant, that when my master goeth 
into the house of Rimmon to worship there, and he leaneth 
on my hand, and I bow myself in the house of Rimmon : 
when I bow down myself in the house of Rimmon, the 



EX. LVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 801 

Lord pardon thy servant in this thing. And he said unto 
him, Go in peace. So he departed from him a Httle way. 
But Gehazi, the servant of Elisha the man of God, said. 
Behold, my master hath spared Naaman this Syrian, in 
5 not receiving at his hands that which he brought : but as 
the Lord liveth, I will run after him, and take somewhat 
of him. So Gehazi followed after Naaman. 

And when Naaman saw him running after him, he 
lighted down from the chariot to meet him, and said, Is all 

10 well ? And he said. All is well. My master hath sent 
me, saying. Behold, even now there be come to me from 
Mount Ephraim two young men of the sons of the proph- 
ets : give them, I pray thee, a talent of silver, and two 
changes of garments. 

15 And Naaman said, Be content, take two talents. And 
he urged him, and bound two talents of silver in two bags, 
with two changes of garments, and laid them upon two of 
his servants ; and they bare them before him. And when 
he came to the tower, he took them from their hand and 

20 bestowed them in the house : and he let the men go, and 
they departed. But he went in, and stood before his 
master. 

And Elisha said unto him, Whence comest thou, Ge- 
hazi ? And he said, Thy servant went no whither. And 

25 he said unto him. Went not my heart with thee, when 
the man turned again from his chariot to meet thee ? Is 
it a time to receive money, and to receive garments, and 
olive-yards, and vineyards, and sheep, and oxen, and men- 
servants, and maid-servants ? The leprosy, therefore, of 

30 Naaman shall cleave unto thee and unto thy seed forever. 
And he went out from his presence a leper as white as 
snow. 



EXERCISE LVm. 

Reflections occasioned by a Man's perishing in a Snmu-storm.. 

As thus the snows arise ; and foul, and fierce, 
All Winter drives along the darkened air ; 
35 In his own loose revolving fields, the swain 
Disastered stands ; sees other hills ascend. 
Of unknown joyless brow ; and other scenes, 
Of horrid prospect, shag the trackless plain : 
Nor finds the river, nor the forest, hid 
26 



302 - Parker's exercises in [ex. lviii. 

Beneath the formless wild ; but wanders on 

From hill to dale, still more and more astray ; 

Impatient flouncing through the drifted heaps, 

Stung with the thoughts of home ; the thoughts of home 
5 Rush on his nerves, and call their vigor forth 

In many a vain attempt. 

How sinks his soul ! 

What black despair, what horror fills his heart ! 

When for the dusky spot, which fancy feigned 
10 His tufted cottage rising through the snow, 

He meets the roughness of the middle waste, 

Far from the track and blessed abode of man ! 

While round him night resistless closes fast, 

And every tempest, howling o'er his head, 
15 Renders the savage wilderness more wild. 

Then throng the busy shapes into his mind 

Of covered pits, unfathomably deep, 

A dire descent! beyond the power of frost! 

Of faithless bogs ; of precipices huge, 
20 Smoothed up with snow ; and, what is lafid, unknown ; 

What water, of the still unfrozen spring. 

In the loose marsh or solitary lake. 

Where the fresh fountain from the bottom boils. 
These check his fearful steps ; and down he sinks 
25 Beneath the shelter of the shapeless drift. 

Thinking o'er all the bitterness of death. 

Mixed with the tender anguish Nature shoots 

Through the wrung bosom of the dying man, — 

His wife, his children, and his friends unseen. 
30 In vain for him the officious wife prepares 

The fire fair-blazing, and the vestment warm ; 

In vain his little children, peeping out 

Into the mingling storm, demand their sire. 

With tears of artless innocence. Alas ! 
35 Nor wife, nor children, more shall he behold, 

Nor friends, nor sacred home. 

On every nerve 

The deadly Winter seizes ; shuts up sense ; 

And, o'er his inmost vitals creeping cold, 
40 Lays him along the snows, a stiffened corse, 

Stretched out, and bleaching in the northern blast. 
Ah ! little think the gay licentious proud, 

Whom pleasure, power, and affluence surround ; 

They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth, 



EX. LIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 303 

And wanton, often cruel, riot waste ; 
Ah ! little think they, while they dance along, 
How many feel, this very moment, death, 
And all the sad variety of pain ! 
5 How many sink in the devouring flood, 
Or more devouring flame I How many bleed, 
By shameful variance betwixt man and man ! 
How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms ; 
Shut from the common air, and common use 

10 Of their own limbs ! How many drink the cup 
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread 
Of misery ! Sore pierced by wintry winds, 
How many shrink into the sordid hut 
Of cheerless poverty ! How many shake 

15 With all the fiercer tortures of the mind. 
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse ; 
Whence tumbled headlong from the height of life, 
They furnish matter for the tragic Muse ! 

E'en in the vale where Wisdom loves to dwell, 

20 With friendship, peace, and contemplation joined, 
How many, racked with honest passions, droop 
In deep retired distress ! How many stand 
Around the death-bed of their dearest friends. 
And point the parting anguish ! 

25 Thought fond Man 

Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills. 
That one incessant struggle render life, — 
One scene of toil, of suflfering, and of fate, — 
Vice in his high career would stand appalled, 

30 And heedless rambling Impulse learn to think; 
The conscious heart of Charity would warm, 
And her wide wish Benevolence dilate ; 
The social tear would rise, the social sigh : 
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss, 

35 Refining still, the social passions work. Thomson. 



EXERCISE LIX. 

CaUisthenes' Reproof of Cleon^s Flattery to Alexander. 

If the king were present, Cleon, there would be no need 
of my answering to what you have just proposed. He 
would himself reprove you for endeavoring to draw him 



304 Parker's exercises in [ex. lx. 

into an imitation of foreign absurdities, and for bringing 
envy upon him by such unmanly flattery. 

As he is absent, I take upon me to tell you, in his name, 
that no praise is lasting, but what is rational ; and that 

5 you do what you can to lessen his glory, instead of adding 
to it. Heroes have never among us been deified, till after 
their death : and whatever may be your way of thinking, 
Cleon, for my part, I wish the king may not, for many 
years to come, obtain that honor. 

10 You have mentioned, as precedents of what you pro- 
pose, Hercules and Bacchus. Do you imagine, Cleon, that 
they were deified over a cup of wine ? and are you and I 
qualified to make gods ? Is the king, our sovereign, to 
receive his divinity from you and me, who are his subjects ? 

15 First try your power, whether you can make a king. It 
is surely easier to make a king than a god ; to give an 
earthly dominion, than a throne in heaven. I only wish 
that the gods may have heard without offence the arro- 
gant proposal you have made of adding one to their num- 

20 ber ; and that they may still be so propitious to us as to 
grant the continuance of that success to our affairs with 
which they have hitherto favored us. 

For my part, I am not ashamed of my country ; nor do 
I approve of our adopting the rites of foreign nations, or 

25 learning from them how we ought to reverence our kings. 
To receive laws or rules of conduct from them, what is it 
but to confess ourselves inferior to them ? 



EXERCISE LX. 

Rural Felicity. 

O, KNEW he but his happiness, of men 
The happiest he, who, far from public rage, 

30 Deep in the vale, with a choice few retired, 
Drinks the pure pleasures of the rural life. 

What though the dome be wanting, whose proud gate, 
Each morning, vomits out the sneaking crowd 
Of flatterers false, and in their turn abused ? 

35 Vile intercourse ! what though the glittering robe 
Of every hue reflected light can give, 
Or floating loose, or stiff with mazy gold. 
The pride and gaze of fools ! oppress him not ? 



EX. LX.] RHETORICAL READING. 305 

What though, from utmost land and sea purveyed, 

For him each rarer tributary life 

Bleeds not, and his insatiate table heaps 

With luxuiy and death ? What though his bowl 
5 Flames not with costly juice ; nor sunk in beds, 

Oft of gay care, he tosses out the night, 

Or melts the thoughtless hours in idle state ? 
What though he knows not those fantastic joys 

That still amuse the wanton, still deceive • 
10 A face of pleasure, bat a heart of pain ; 

Their hollow moments undelighted all ? 

Sure peace is his ; a solid life, estranged 

To disappointment, and fallacious hope : 

Rich in content, in Nature's bounty rich, 
15 In herbs and fruits. 

Whatever greens the Spring, 

When heaven descends in showers ; or bends the bough 

When Summer reddens, and when Autumn beams ; 

Or in the wintry glebe whatever lies 
20 Concealed, and fattens with the richest sap : 

These are not wanting ; nor the milky drove, 

Luxuriant, spread o'er all the lowing vale ; 

Nor bleating mountains ; nor the chide of streams, ^ 

And hum of bees, inviting sleep sincere f' 

25 Into the guiltless breast, beneath the shade, I 

Or thrown at large amid the fragrant hay ; 

Nor aught besides of prospect, grove, or song, 

Dim grottoes, gleaming lakes, and fountain clear. 
Here too dwells simple Truth ; plain Innocence ; 
30 Unsullied Beauty ; sound unbroken Youth, 

Patient of labor, with a little pleased ; 

Health ever blooming; unambitious Toil, 

Calm Contemplation, and poetic Ease. 

Let others brave the flood in quest of gain, 
35 And beat, for joyless months, the gloomy wave. 

Let such as deem it glory to destroy 

Rush into blood, the sack of cities seek; 

Unpierced, exulting in the widow's wail, 

The virgin's shriek, and infant's trembling cry. 
40 Let some, far distant from their native soil 

Urged or by want or hardened avarice, 

Find other lands beneath another sun. 

Let this through cities work his eager way, 

By legal outrage and established guile, 
26=^ 



306 Parker's EXERCfsp:s in [ex. lxi. 

The social sense extinct ; and that ferment 

Mad into tumult the seditious herd, 

Or melt them down to slavery. Let these 

Insnare the wretched in the toils of law, 
5 Fomenting discord, and perplexing right, 

An iron race ! and those of fairer front. 

But equal inhumanity, in courts. 

Delusive pomp and dark cabals, delight; 

Wreathe the deep bow, diffuse the lying smile, 
10 And tread the weary labyrinth of state. 

While he, from all the stormy passions free 

That restless men involve, hears, and but hears, 

At distance safe, the human tempest roar, 

Wrapped close in conscious peace. The fall of kings, 
15 The rage of nations, and the crush of states. 

Move not the man who, from the world escaped, 

In still retreats, and flowery solitudes. 

To Nature's voice attends, from month to month 

And day to day, through the revolving year : 
20 Admiring, sees her in her every shape : 

Feels all her sweet emotions at his heart ; 

Takes what she liberal gives,, nor thinks of more. 

Thomson. 



EXERCISE LXI. 

Holla's Address to the Peruvians. 

My brave associates ! partners of my toils, my feelings 
and my fame ! Can Eolla's words add vigor to the virtu- 

25 ous energies which inspire your hearts? — No, — you 
have judged as I have the foulness of the crafty plea by 
which these bold invaders would delude ye. Your gener- 
ous spirit has compared, as mine has, the motives which 
in a war like this can animate their minds and ours. 

30 They, by a strange frenzy driven, fight for power, for 
plunder and extended rule; — we — for our country, our 
altars and our homes ! They follow an adventurer whom 
they fear, and obey a power which they hate ; — we serve 
a country which we love, a God whom we adore. 

35 Where'er they move in anger, desolation tracks their 
progress ; where'er they pause in amity, afiliction mourns 
their friendship. They boast they come but to improve 
our state, enlarge our thoughts, and free us from the yoke 



EX. LXII.] RHETORICAL READING. 307 

of error. Yes, — they will give enlightened freedom to our 
minds, who are themselves the slaves of passion, avarice 
and pride ! 

They offer us their protection ; — yes, such protection 

5 as vultures give to lambs, — covering and devouring them ! 

They call on us to barter all of good we have inherited 

and proved, for the desperate chance of something better 

which they promise. 

Be our plain answer this : The throne we honor is the 

10 people's choice; the laws we reverence are our brave 
fathers' legacy ; the faith we follow teaches us to live in 
bonds of charity with all mankind, and die — with hope 
of bliss beyond the grave. Tell your invaders this ; and 
tell them, too, we seek no change, and least of all such 

15 change as they would bring us ! — Sheridan. 



EXERCISE LXn. 
Oft in the Stilly Night. 

Oft in the stilly night. 

Ere slumber's chain has bound me, 

Fond memory brings the light 

Of other days around me ; 
20 The smiles, the tears, of boyhood's years, 

The words of love then spoken. 

The eyes that shone, now dimmed and gone, 

The cheerful hearts now broken ! 

Thus in the stilly night, &c. 
25 When I remember all 

The friends so linked together, 

I've seen around me fall, 

Like leaves in winter weather, 

I feel like one, who treads alone 
30 Some banquet-hall deserted. 

Whose lights are fled, whose garlands dead. 

And all but he departed. 

Thus in the stilly night, &c. T. Moore. 



308 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxiii 

EXERCISE LXIII. 

Extract from a Speech of Lmrd Mansfield, in the British 
Parliament, in the year 1770. 

My Lords, — I come now to speak upon what, indeetl, 
I would have gladly avoided, had I not been particularly 
pointed at for the part I have taken in this bill. It has 
been said by a noble lord on my left hand, that I likewise 
am running the race of popularity. 

b If the noble lord means by popularity that applause 
bestowed by after ages on good and virtuous actions, I 
have long been struggling in that race ; to what purpose 
all-trying time can alone determine : but if the noble 
lord means that mushroom popularity that is raised with- 

10 out merit and lost without crime, he is much mistaken in 
his opinion. I defy the noble lord to point out a single 
action of my life, where the popularity of the times ever 
had the smallest influence on my determinations. 

I thank God I have a more permanent and steady rule 

15 for my conduct, — the dictates of my own breast. Those 
that have foregone that pleasing adviser, and given up 
their mind to be the slave of every popular impulse, I sin- 
cerely pity ; I pity them still more, if their vanity leads 
them to mistake the shouts of a mob for the trumpet of 

20 fame. Experience might inform them, that many who 
have been saluted with the huzzas of a crowd one day 
have received their execrations the next ; and many, who, 
by the popularity of their times, have been held up as 
spotless patriots, have, nevertheless, appeared upon the 

25 historian's page, when truth has triumphed over delusion, 
the assassins of liberty. 

Why, then, the noble lord can think I am ambitious of 
present popularity, that echo of folly and shadow of re- 
nown, I am at a loss to determine. 

30 Besides, I do not know that the bill now before your 
lordships will be popular : it depends much upon the 
caprice of the day. It may not be popular to compel peo- 
ple to pay their debts ; and in that case, the present must 
be a very unpopular bill. It may not be popular neither 

35 to take away any of the privileges of Parliament ; for I 
very well remember, and many of your lordships may 
remember, that not long ago the popular cry was for the 
extension of privilege ; and so far did they carry it at 
that time, that it was said that the privilege protected 



EX. LXrV.] RHETORICAL READING. 309 

members even in criminal actions; nay, such was the 
power of popular prejudices over weak minds, that the 
very decisions of some of the courts were tinctured with 
that doctrine. 

5 It was undoubtedly an abominable doctrine ; I thought 
so then, and think so still : but, nevertheless, it was a pop- 
ular doctrine, and came immediately from those who are 
called the friends of liberty; how deservedly, time will 
show. True liberty, in my opinion, can only exist when 

10 justice is equally administered to all ; to the king, and to 
the beggar. 

Where is the justice, then, or where is the law, that 
protects a member of Parliament, more than any other 
man, from the punishment due to his crimes ? The laws 

15 of this country allow of no placfe, nor any employment, to 
be a sanctuary for crimes ; and where I have the honor to 
sit as judge, neither royal favor nor popular applause shall 
ever protect the guilty. 

I have now only to beg pardon for having employed so 

20 much of your lordships' time ; and I am sorry a bill, 
fraught with so many good consequences, has not met 
with an abler advocate ; but I doubt not your lordships' 
determination will convince the world, that a bill, calcu- 
lated to contribute so much to the equal distribution of jus- 

25 tice as the present, requires with your lordships but very 
little support. 



EXERCISE LXIV. 

An Address to the Deity. 

Thou ! whose balance does the mountains weigh; 
Whose will the wild tumultuous seas obey ; 
Whose breath can turn those watery worlds to flame, 

30 That flame to tempest, and that tempest tame ; 
Earth's meanest son, all trembling, prostrate falls, 
And on the bounty of thy goodness calls, 

O ! give the winds all past oflence to sweep, 
To scatter wide, or bury in the deep ! 

35 Thy power, my weakness, may I ever see, 
And wholly dedicate my soul to thee I 
Reign o'er my will ; my passions ebb and flow 
At thy command, nor human motive know ! 



310 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxiv. 

If anger boil, let anger be my praise, 
And sin the graceful indignation raise. 
My love be warm to succor the distressed, 
And lift the burden from the soul oppressed. 
5 O, may my understanding ever read 

This glorious volume which thy wisdom made ! 
May sea and land, and earth and heaven, be joined, 
To bring the eternal Author to my mind ! 

When oceans roar, or awful thunders roll, 
10 May thoughts of thy dread vengeance shake my soul! 
When earth 's in bloom, or planets proudly shine, 
Adore, my heart, the Majesty divine ! 
Grant I may ever, at the morning ray. 
Open with prayer the consecrated day ; 
15 Tune thy great praise; and bid my soul arise, 
And with the mounting sun ascend the skies ; 
As that advances, let my zeal improve. 
And glow with ardor of consummate love ; 
Nor cease at eve, but with the setting sun 
20 My endless worship shall be still begun ! 

And oh ! permit the gloom of solemn night 
To sacred thought may forcibly invite. 
When this world 's shut, and awful planets rise, 
Call on our minds, and raise them to the skies ! 
25 Compose our souls with a less dazzling sight. 
And show all nature in a milder light : 
How every boisterous thought in calm subsides ; 
How the smoothed spirit into goodness glides ! 

Oh how divine ! to tread the milky way, 
30 To the bright palace of the Lord of Day ; 
His court admire, or for his favor sue. 
Or leagues of friendship with his saints renew ; 
Pleased to look down and see the world asleep, 
While I long vigils to its Founder keep ! 
35 Canst thou not shake the centre ? Oh control, 
'Subdue by force, the rebel in my soul ; 
Thou, who canst still the raging of the flood, 
Restrain the various tumults of my blood ; 
Teach me with equal firmness to sustain 
40 Alluring pleasure and assaulting pain. 

O may I pant for thee in each desire ! 
And with strong faith foment the holy fire ! 
Stretch out my soul in hope, and grasp the prize 
Which in eternity's deep bosom lies ! 



EX. LXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 311 

At the great day of recompense, behold, 
Devoid of fear, the fatal book unfold ! 
Then wafted upward to the blissful seat, 
From age to age my grateful song repeat ; 
5 My Light, my Life, my God, my Saviour see, 

And rival angels in the praise of thee I Young. 



EXERCISE LXV. 

Cause of Differences in Opinion. 

It is characteristic of the human mind not to be willing 
to wait long in suspense on any question presented to it 
for decision. When any new question or new subject 

10 comes before us, we grasp hastily at the little information 
in regard to it within our immediate reach, and then hurry 
to a decision. We are not often willing to wait to consid- 
er whether the subject is fairly within the grasp of our 
powers, and whether all the facts which are important to 

15 a proper consideration of it are before us. We decide at 

once. It is not pleasant to be in suspense. Suspense 

implies ignorance, and to admit ignorance is humiliating. 

Hence most persons have a settled belief upon almost 

every question which has been brought before them. In 

20 expressing their opinions they mention things which they 
believe, and things which they do not believe ; but very 
few people have a third class of questions, which they ac- 
knowledge to be beyond their grasp, so that in regard to 
them they can neither believe nor disbelieve, but must 

25 remain in suspense. 

Now this is the secret of nine tenths of the difference 
of opinion, and of the sharp disputes by which this world 
is made so noisy a scene. Men jump at conclusions be- 
fore they distinctly understand the premises ; and as each 

30 one sees only a part of what he ought to see before form- 
ing his opinion, it is not surprising that each should see a 
different part, and should consequently be led to different 
results. They then fall into a dispute, each presenting his 
own partial view, and shutting his eyes to that exhibited 

35 by his opponent. 

Some of the mistakes which men thus fall into are mel- 
ancholy ; others only ludicrous. Some European traveller 
showed a map of the world to a Chinese philosopher. The 



312 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxvi. 

philosopher looked at it a few moments, and then turned, 

with proud and haughty look, and said to the bystanders, 

" This map is entirely wrong ; the English know nothing 

of geography. They have got China out upon one side 

5 of the world, whereas it is, in fact, exactly in the middle." 

Multitudes of amusing stories are related by travellers 

of the mistakes and misconceptions and false reasonings 

of semi-barbarous people, about the subjects of European 

science and philosophy. They go to reasoning at once, 

10 and fall into the grossest errors ; but still they have much 

more confidence in their silly speculations than in any 

evidence which their minds are capable of receiving. 

Abbott. 



EXERCISE LXVI. 
The Last Rose of Summer. 

'T IS the last rose of summer, 

Left blooming alone ; 
15 All her lovely companions 

Are faded and gone ; 

No flower of her kindred, 

No rose-bud, is nigh. 

To reflect back her blushes, 
20 Or give sigh for sigh ! 

I '11 not leave thee, thou lone one ! 

To pine on the stem ; 

Since the lovely are sleeping, 

Go, sleep thou with them ; 
25 Thus kindly I scatter 

Thy leaves o'er thy bed. 

Where thy mates of the garden 

Lie scentless and dead. 
So soon may I follow ; 
30 When friendships decay. 

And from Love's shiriing circle 

The gems drop away ! 

When true hearts lie. withered, 

And fond ones are flown, 
35 Oh ! who would inhabit 

This bleak world alone ? T. Moore. 



EX. LXvil.] RHETORICAL READING. 313 

EXERCISE LXVIL 

O71 the Importance of Order in the Distribution of Time. 

Time we ought to consider as a sacred trust, committed 
to us by God ; of which we are now the depositories, and 
are to render an account at the last. That portion of it 
which he has allotted to us is intended partly for the con- 
5 cerns of this world, partly for those of the next. Let each 
of these occnpy, in the distribution of our time, that space 
which properly belongs to it. 

Let not the hours of hospitality and pleasure interfere 
with the discharge of our necessary affairs ; and let not 

10 what we call necessary affairs encroach upon the time 
which is due to devotion. To everything there is a season, 
and a time for every purpose under heaven. If we delay 
till to-morrow what ought to be done to-day, we overcharge 
the morrow with a burden which belongs not to it. We 

15 load the wheels of time, and prevent them from carrying 
us along smoothly. 

He who every morning plans the transactions of the day, 
and follows out that plan, cames on a thread which will 
guide him through the labyrinth of the most busy life. 

20 The orderly arrangement of his time is like a ray of light, 
which darts itself through all his affairs. But where no 
plan is laid, where the disposal of time is surrendered 
merely to the chance of incidents, all things lie huddled 
together in one chaos, which admits neither of distribution 

25 nor review. 

The first requisite for introducing order into the man- 
agement of time is to be impressed with a just sense of 
its value. Let us consider well how much depends upon 
it, and how fast it flies away. The bulk of men are in 

30 nothing more capricious and inconsistent than in their 

appreciation of time. When they think of it as the 

measure of their continuance on earth, they highly prize 

it, and with the greatest anxiety seek to lengthen it out. 

But when they view it in separate parcels, they appear 

35 to hold it in contempt, and squander it with inconsiderate 
profusion. While they complain that life is short, they 
are often wishing its different periods at an end. Covetous 
of every other possession, of time only they are prodigal. 
They allow every idle man to be master of this property, 

40 and make every frivolous occupation welcome that can 
help them to consume it 
27 



314 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxviii. 

Among those who are so careless of time, it is not to he 
expected that order should be observed in its distribution. 
But, by this fatal neglect, how many materials of severe 
and lasting regret are they laying up in store for them- 
5 selves ! The time which they suffer to pass away in the 
midst of confusion, bitter repentance seeks afterwards in 
vain to recall. What was omitted to be done at its proper 
moment, arises to be the torment of some future season. 
Manhood is disgraced by the consequences of neglected 

10 youth. Old age, oppressed by cares that belonged to a 
former period, labors under a burden not its own. At the 
close of life, the dying man beholds with anguish that his 
days are finishing, when his preparation for eternity is 
hardly commenced. Such are the effects of a disorderly 

15 waste of time, through not attending to its value. Every- 
thing in the life of such persons is misplaced. Nothing is 
performed aright, from not being performed in due season. 
But he who is orderly in the distribution of his time 
takes the proper method of escaping those manifold evils. 

20 He is justly said to redeem the time. By proper manage- 
ment he prolongs it. He lives much in little space ; more 
in a few years than others do in many. He can live to 
God and his own soul, and at the same time, attend to all 
the lawful interests of the present world. He looks back 

25 on the past, and provides for the future. 

He catches and arrests the hours as they fly. They are 
marked down for useful purposes, and their memory re- 
mains. Whereas those hours fleet by the man of confu- 
sion like a shadow. His days and years are either blanks, 

30 of which he has no remembrance, or they are filled up 
with so confused and irregular a succession of unfinished 
transactions, that though he remembers he has been busy, 
yet he can give no account of the business which has 
employed him. — Blair. 



EXERCISE LXVm. 

The Katydid. 

35 I LOVE to hear thine earnest voice, 

Wherever thou art hid, 
Thou testy little dogmatist, 
Thou pretty Katydid ' 



EX. LXVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 315 

Thou 'mindest me of gentlefolks, — 

Old gentlefolks are they, — 

Thou say'st an undisputed thing 

In such a solemn way. 
5 Thou art a female, Katydid ! 

I know it by the trill 

That quivers through thy piercing notes, 

So petulant and shrill. 

I think there is a knot of you 
10 Beneath the hollow tree, — 

A knot of spinster Katydids, — 

Do Katydids drink tea ? 

Oh, tell me where did Katy live, 

And what did Katy do ? 
15 And was she very fair and young, 

And yet so wicked too ? 

Did Katy love a naughty man, 

Or kiss more cheeks than one ? 

I warrant Katy did no more 
20 Than many a Kate has done. 

Dear me ! I '11 tell you all about 

My fuss with little Jane, 

And Ann, with whom I used to walk 

So often down the lane, 
25 And all that tore their locks of black, 

Or wet their eyes of blue, — 

Pray tell me, sweetest Katydid, 

What did poor Katy do ? 

Ah no I the living oak shall crash, 
30 That stood for ages still, 

The rock shall rend its mossy base, 

And thunder down the hill, 

Before the little Katydid 

Shall add one word, to tell 
35 The mystic story of the maid 

Whose name she knows so well. 
Peace to the ever-murmuring race ! 

And when the latest one 

Shall fold in death her feeble wings, 
40 Beneath the autumn sun, 

Then shall she raise her fainting voice, 

And lift her drooping lid. 

And then the child of future years 

Shall learn what Katy did. O. W. Holmes. 



116 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [EX. LXIX. 

EXERCISE LXIX. 

Conclusion of an Address to President Washington^ in 
allusion to his retiring from office. 

Sir, while we entertain a grateful conviction that your 
wise, firm, and patriotic administration has been signally 
conducive to the success of the present form of government, 
we cannot forbear to express the deep sensations of regret 
5 with which we contemplate your intended retirement from 
office. • 

As no other suitable occasion may occur, we cannot suf- 
fer the present to pass without attempting to disclose some 
of the emotions which it cannot fail to awaken. 

10 The gratitude and admiration of your countrymen are 
still drawn to the recollection of those resplendent virtues 
and talents which were so eminently instrumental to the 
achievement of the Revolution, and of which that glorious 
event will ever be the memorial. Your obedience to the 

15 voice of duty and your country, when you quitted reluct- 
antly, a second time, the retreat you had chosen, and first 
accepted the presidency, afforded a new proof of the de- 
votedness of your zeal in its service, and an earnest of the 
patriotism and success which has characterized your admin- 

20 istration. As the grateful confidence of the citizens in the 
virtues of their chief magistrate has essentially contributed 
to that success, we persuade ourselves that the millions 
whom we represent participate with us in the anxious 
solicitude of the present occasion. 

25 Yet we cannot be unmindful that your moderation and 
magnanimity, twice displayed by retiring from your exalted 
stations, afford examples no less rare and instructive to 
mankind than valuable to a republic. 

Although we are sensible that this event, of itself, 

30 completes the lustre of a character already conspicuously 
unrivalled by the coincidence of virtue, talents, success, 
and public estimation, yet we conceive we owe it to you, sir, 
and still more emphatically to ourselves, and to our nation, 
(of the language of whose hearts we presume to think 

35 ourselves at this moment the faithful interpreters,) to ex- 
press the sentiments with which it is contemplated. 

The spectacle of a free and enlightened nation offering 
by its representatives the tribute of unfeigned approbation 
to its first citizen, however novel and interesting it may be, 

40 derives all its lustre (a lustre which accident or enthusiasm 



EX. LXX.] RHETORICAL READING. - 317 

could not bestow, and which adulation would tarnish,) 
from the transcendent merit of which it is the voluntary 
testimony. 

May you long enjoy that liberty which is so dear to 

5 you, and to which your name will ever be so dear. May 
your o^A^l virtues and a nation's prayers obtain the happiest 
sunshine for the decline of your days, and the choicest of 
future blessings. For our country's sake, for the sake of 
republican liberty, it is our earnest wish that your example 

10 may be the guide of your successors, and thus, after being 
the ornament and safeguard of the present age, become 
the patrimony of our descendants. — Fisher Ames. 



EXERCISE LXX. 

The Frost. 

The Frost looked forth one still, clear night, 

And whispered, " Now I shall be out of sight ; 
15 So, through the valley, and over the height, 

In silence I '11 take my way. 

I will not go on like that blustering train — 

The wind, and the snow, the hail and the rain, 

Who make so much bustle and noise in vain ; 
20 But I '11 be as busy as they." 

Then he flew to the mountain and powdered its crest ; 

He lit on the trees, and their boughs he dressed 

In diamond beads ; and over the breast 

Of the quivering lake he spread 
25 A coat of mail, that it need not fear 

The do^vnward point of many a spear, 

That he hung on its margin far and near, 

Where a rock could rear its head. 

He went to the windows of those who slept, 
30 And over each pane like a fairy he crept; 

Wherever he breathed, wherever he stepped. 

By the light of the moon were seen 

Most beautiful things ; there were flowers and trees ; 

There were bevies of birds, and swarms of bees ; 
35 There were cities, with temples and towers ; and these 

All pictured in silver sheen. 

But he did one thing that was hardly fair, — - 

He peeped in the cupboard, and finding there 

That all had forgotten for him to prepare, 
27^ 



318 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxi. 

" Now just to set them thinking, 
I '11 bite this basket of fruit," said he ; 
" This costly pitcher I '11 burst in three ; 
And the glass of water they 've left for me 
5 Shall * tchick,' to tell them I 'm drinking." 

H, F. Gould. 



EXERCISE LXXI. 

Character of Lord Chatham. 

The secretary stood alone. Modern degeneracy had 
not reached him. Original and unaccommodating, the 
features of his character had the hardihood of antiquity. 
His august mind overawed majesty, and one of his sover- 

10 eigns thought royalty so impaired in his presence, that he 
conspired to remove him, in order to be relieved from his 
superiority. 

No state chicanery, no narrow system of vicious politics, 
no idle contest for ministerial victories, sunk him to the 

15 vulgar level of the great: but overbearing, persuasive, 
and impracticable, his object was England, his ambition 
was fame. Without dividing, he destroyed party ; with- 
out corrupting, he made a venal age unanimous. France 
sunk beneath him. With one hand he smote the house 

20 of Bourbon, and wielded in the other the democracy of 
England. 

The sight of his mind was infinite ; and his schemes 
were to affect, not England, not the present age only, but 
Europe and posterity. Wonderful were the means by 

25 which these schemes were accomplished ; always season- 
able, always adequate, the suggestions of an understand- 
ing animated by ardor, and enlightened by prophecy. 

The ordinary feelings which make life amiable and in- 
dolent were unknown to him. No domestic difficulties, 

80 no domestic weakness, reached him ; but aloof from the 
sordid occurrences of life, and unsullied by its intercourse, 
he came occasionally into our system, to counsel and to 
decide. 

A character so exalted, so strenuous, so various, so au- 

35 thoritative, astonished a corrupt age, and the treasury 
trembled at the name of Pitt through all her classes of 
venality. Corruption imagined, indeed, that she had found 
defects in this statesman, and talked much of the incon- 



£X. LXXII.] RHETORICAL READING. 319 

sistency of his glory, and much of the ruin of his victo- 
ries ; but the history of his country and the calamities of 
the enemy answered and refuted her. 

Nor were his political abilities his only talents : his elo- 

5 quence was an era in the senate, peculiar and spontane- 
ous, familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instinct- 
ive wisdom ; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the 
splendid conflagration of Tully ; it resembled sometimes 
the thunder, and sometimes the music of the spheres. 

10 Like Murray, he did not conduct the imderstanding 
through the painful subtilty of argumentation ; nor was 
he, like Townshend, forever on the rack of exertion ; but 
rather lightened upon the subject, and reached the point 
by the flashings of the mind, which, like those of his eye, 

15 were felt, but could not be followed. 

Upon the whole, there was in this man something that 
could create, subvert, or reform; an understanding, a 
spirit, and an eloquence, to summon mankind to society, 
or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the 

20 wilderness of free minds with unbounded authority; some- 
thing that could establish or overwhelm empire, and strike 
a blow in the world that should resound through the uni- 
verse. — Grattan. 



EXERCISE LXXn. 

Cardinal Wolsey arid Cromwell, 

Wolsey. Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! 

25 This is the state of man ; to-day he puts forth 
The tender leaves of hope ; to-morrow blossoms, 
And bears his blushing honors thick upon him ; 
The third day comes a frost, a killing frost. 
And when he thinks, good easy man, full surely 

30 His greatness is a ripening, nips his shoot — 
And then he falls, as I do. I have ventured, 
Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, 
These many summers in a sea of glory ; 
But far beyond my depth ; my high-blown pride 

35 At length broke under me ; and now has left me. 
Weary and old with service, to the mercy 
Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. 
Vain pomp and glory of the world, I hate ye ! 
I feel my heart new opened. Oh how wretched 



320 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxii. 

Is that poor man who hangs on princes' favors ! 
There is, betwixt that smile he would aspire to, 
That sweet regard of princes, and his ruin, 
More pangs and fears than war or women have ; 
5 And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, 

Never to hope again. {Enter Cromwell.) 

Why, how now, Cromwell ? 

Cromwell. I have no power to speak, sir. 
Wol. What! amazed 
10 At my misfortunes ? Can thy spirit wonder 
A great man should decline ? Nay, if you weep, 
I 'm fallen indeed. • 

Cram. How does your grace ? 
Wol. Why, well; 
15 Never so truly happy, my good Cromwell. 
I know myself now, and I feel within me 
A peace above all earthly dignities ; 
A still and quiet conscience. The king has eased me. 
I humbly thank his grace : and, from these shoulders, 
20 These ruined pillars, out of pity taken 

A load would sink a navy, too much honor. 
Oh, 'tis a burden, Cromwell, 't is a burden. 
Too heavy for a man that hopes for heaven ! 

Crom. I 'm glad your grace has made that right use of it. 
25 Wol. I hope I have. I 'm able now, methinks, 
Out of a fortitude of soul I feel. 
To endure more miseries, and greater far. 
Than my weak-hearted enemies dare offer. 
What news abroad ? 
30 Crom. The heaviest and the worst 
Is your displeasure with the king. 
Wol. God bless him ! 

Crom. The next is that Sir Thomas More is chosen 
Lord Chancellor in your place. 

35 Wol. That 's somewhat sudden 

But he 's a learned man. May he continue 
Long in his highness' favor, and do justice. 
For truth's sake and his conscience ; that his bones, 
When he has run his course, and sleeps in blessings, 
40 May have a tomb of orphan's tears wept over him ! 
What more ? 

Crom. That Cranmer is returned with welcome ; 
Installed Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Wol. That 's news, indeed ! 



EX. LXXn.] RHETORICAL READLSfG. ^ 321 

Crom. Last, that the Lady Anne, 
Whom the king hath in secrecy long married, 
This day was viewed in open as his queen, 
Going to chapel ; and the voice is now 

5 Only about her coronation. 

Wol. There was the weight that pulled me down, O 
Cromwell ! 
The king has gone heyond me : all my glories 
In that one woman I have lost forever. 

10 No sun shall ever usher forth my honors. 
Or gild again the noble troops that waited 
Upon my smiles. Go, get thee from me, Cromwell ! 
I am a poor fallen man, unworthy now 
To be thy lord and master ; seek the king — 

15 (That sun I pray may never set !) — I 've told him 
What and how true thou art : he will advance thee : 
Some little memory of me will stir him 
(I know his noble nature) not to let 
Thy hopeful service perish too. Good Cromwell, 

20 Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide 
For thine own future safety. 

Crom. O my lord ! 
Must I then leave you ? Must I needs forego 
So good, so noble, and so true a master? 

25 Bear witness all ye that have not hearts of iron, 
With what a sorrow Cromwell leaves his lord ! 
The king shall have my service ; but my prayers. 
Forever and forever, shall be yours. 

Wol. Cromwell — I did not think to shed a tear 

30 In all my miseries — but thou hast forced me, 

Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman 

Let 's dry our eyes, and thus far hear me, Cromwell : 

And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, 

And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention 

35 Of me must more be heard — say then, I taught thee • 
Say, Wolsey, that once rode the waves of glory. 
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, 
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in ; 
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. 

40 Mark but my fall, and that which ruined me. 
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : 
By that sin fell the angels : how can man, then, 
(Though the image of his Maker,) hope to win by it? 
Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that wait thee : 

45 Corruption wins not more than honesty. 



322 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxiii. 

Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, 
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. 
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, 
Thy God's and truth's ; then, if thou fall'st, Cromwell, 

5 Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king 

And prithee lead me in 

There take an inventory of all I have : 
To the last penny, 't is the king's. My robe. 
And my integrity to Heaven, is all 
10 I dare now call my own. Cromwell, Cromwell 
Had I but served my God with half the zeal 
I served my king, he would not in mine age 
Have left me naked to mine enemies ! 
Crom. Good sir, have patience. 
15 Wol. So I have. Farewell 

The hopes of court ! — My hopes in heaven do dwell. 

Shakspeare. 



EXERCISE LXXm. 
Resurrection. 

From I Corinthians, Chapter XV, 

Moreover, brethren, I declare unto you the gospel which 
I preached unto you, which also ye have received, and 
wherein ye stand ; by which also ye are saved, if ye keep 

20 in memory what I preached unto you, unless ye have 
believed in vain. 

For I delivered unto you first of all that which I also 
received, how that Christ died for our sins according to the 
scriptures ; and that he was buried, and that he rose again 

25 the third day, according to the scriptures ; and that he was 
seen of Cephas, then of the twelve. After that he was 
seen of above five hundred brethren at once ; of whom the 
greater part remain unto this present, but some are fallen 
asleep. 

30 After that he was seen of James ; then of all the apos- 
tles ; and last of all he was seen of me also, as of one born 
out of due time. For I am the least of the apostles, that 
I am not meet to be called an apostle, because I persecuted 
the church of God. But by the grace of God I am what 

35 I am ; and his grace which was bestowed upon me was not 
in vain ; but I labored more abundantly than they all : yet 
not I, but the grace of God which was with me. There- 



EX. LXXm.] RHETORICAL READING. 323 

fore, whether it were I or they, so we preach, and so ye 
believed. 

Now if Christ be preached that he rose from the dead, 
how say some among you that there is no resurrection of 
5 the dead ? But if there be no resurrection of the dead, 
then is Christ not risen. And if Christ be not risen, then 
is our preaching vain, and your faith is also vain. Yea, 
and we are found false witnesses of God ; because we have 
testified of God that he raised up Christ : whom he raised 

10 not up, if so be that the dead rise not. For if the dead 
rise not, then is not Christ raised : and if Christ be not 
raised, your faith is vain ; ye are yet in your sins. Then 
they also which are fallen asleep in Christ are perished. 
If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all 

15 men most miserable. 

But now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the 
first fruits of them that slept. For since by man came 
death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead. 
For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made 

20 alive. 

But every man in his own order : Christ the first fruits ; 
afterward they that are Christ's at his coming. Then 
cometh the end, when he shall have delivered up the king- 
dom to God, even the Father ; when he shall have put 

25 down all rule, and all authority, and power. For he must 
reign, till he hath put all enemies under his feet. The 
last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. For he hath 
put all things under his feet. 

But when he saith, all things are put under him, it is 

30 manifest that he is excepted which did put all things under 

him. And when all things shall be subdued unto him, 

then shall the Son also himself be subject unto him that 

put all things under him, that God may be all in all. 

Else what shall they do which are baptized for the dead, 

35 if the dead rise not at all ? why are they then baptized for 
the dead ? and why stand we in jeopardy every hour ? I 
protest by your rejoicing, which I have, in Christ Jesus 
our Lord, I die daily. If after the manner of men I have 
fought with beasts, at Ephesus, what advantage th it me 

40 if the dead rise not ? let us eat and drink ; for to-morrow 
we die. 

Be not deceived ; evil communications corrupt good man- 
ners. Awake to righteousness, and sin not ; for some have 
not the knowledge of God. I speak this to your shame. 



324 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxui. 

But some man will say, How are the dead raised up ? 
and with what body do they come ? Thou fool, that which 
thou sowest is not quickened, except it die. And that 
which thou sowest, thou sowest not that body that shall 
5 be, but bare grain ; it may chance of wheat, or of some 
other grain : but God giveth it a body as it hath pleased 
him, and to every seed his own body. 

All flesh is not the same flesh : but there is one kind of 
flesh of men, another flesh of beasts, another of fishes, and 

10 another of birds. There are also celestial bodies, and bod- 
ies terrestrial : but the glory of the celestial is one, and the 
glory of the terrestrial is another. 

There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the 
moon, and another glory of the stars : for one star differeth 

15 from another star in glory. So also is the resurrection of 
the dead : it is sown in corruption, it is raised in incorrup- 
tion : it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory : it is sown 
in weakness, it is raised in power : it is sown a natural 
body, it is raised a spiritual body. 

20 There is a natural body, and there is a spiritual body. 
And so it is written. The first man Adam was made a liv- 
ing soul, the last Adam was made a quickening spirit. 
Howbeit, that was not first which is spiritual, but that 
which is natural ; and afterv»^ard that which is spiritual. 

25 The first man is of the earth, earthy; the second man is 
the Lord from heaven. As is the earthy, such are they 
also that are earthy ; and as is the heavenly, such are they 
also that are heavenly. And as we have borne the image 
of the earthy, we shall also bear the image of the heavenly. 

30 Now this I say, brethren, that flesh and blood cannot 
inherit the kingdom of God ; neither doth corruption inherit 
incorruption. Behold, I show you a mystery : We shall 
not all sleep, but we shall all be changed in a moment, in 
the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump ; for the trumpet 

85 shall sound; and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and 
we shall be changed. For this corruptible must put on 
incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality. 

So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, 
and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall 

40 be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is 
swallowed up in victory. O death, where is thy sting? 
O grave, where is thy victory ? The sting of death is sin, 
and the strength of sin is the law. But thanks be to God 
which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. 



EX. LXXIV.] RHETORICAL READING. 325 

Therefore, my beloved brethren, be ye steadfast, unmov- 
able, always abounding in the work of the Lord, forasmuch 
as ye know that your labor is not in vain in the Lord. 



EXERCISE LXXIY. 

Selfishness Reproved. 

Has God, thou fool ! worked solely for thy good, 
5 Thy joy, thy pastime, thy attire, thy food ? 

Who for thy table feeds the wanton fawn, 

For him as kindly spreads the flowery lawn. 

Is it for thee the lark ascends and sings ? 

Joy tunes his voice, joy elevates his wings. 
10 Is it for thee the linnet pours his throat ? 

Loves of his own, and raptures, swell the note. 

The bounding steed you pompously bestride 

Shares with his lord the pleasure and the pride. 

Is thine alone the seed that strews the plain ? 
15 The birds of heaven shall vindicate their grain. 

Thine the full harvest of the golden year ? 

Part pays, and justly, the deserving steer. 

The hog that ploughs not, nor obeys thy call, 

Lives on the labors of this lord of all. 
20 Know, Nature's children all divide her care ; 

The fur that warms a monarch warmed a bear. 

While man exclaims, " See all things for my use! 

" See man for mine ! " replies a pampered goose 

And just as short of reason he must fall 
25 Who thinks all made for one, not one for all. 

Grant that the powerful still the weak control 

Be man the wit and tyrant of the whole : 

Nature that tyrant checks ; he only knows. 

And helps another creature's wants and woes. 
30 Say, will the falcon, stooping from above, 

Smit with her varying plumage, spare the dove ? 

Admires the jay the insect's gilded wings ? 

Or hears the hawk when Philomela sings ? 

Man cares for all : to birds he gives his woods, 
35 To beasts his pastures, and to fish his floods ; 

For some his interest prompts him to provide, 

For more his pleasures, yet for more his pride. 

All feed on one vain patronVand enjoy 
•The extensive blessing of his luxury. 
28 



326 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxv 

That very life his learned hunger craves 
He saves from famine, from the savage saves ; 
Nay, feasts the animal he dooms his feast ; 
And, till he ends the being, makes it blest : 
5 Which sees no more the stroke, nor feels the pain, 
Than favored man by touch ethereal slain. 
The creature had his feast of life before ; 
Thou too must perish, when thy feast is o'er ! Pope. 



EXERCISE LXXV. 

Extract from an Address delivered before the New England 
Society in the City of New Ym-k, Bee. 23, 1839. 

Let me not be thought, in this allusion and others like 

10 it in which I have already indulged, to slight the claims 
of the Virginia colony, or to do designed injustice to its 
original settlers. There are laurels enough growing wild 
upon the graves of Plymouth, without tearing a leaf 
from those of Jamestown. New England does not require 

15 to have other parts of the country cast into shade, in order 
that the brightness of her own early days may be seen and 
admired. Least of all, would any son of New England be 
found uttering a word in wanton disparagement of " our 
noble, patriotic, sister colony, Virginia," as she was once 

20 justly termed by the patriots of Faneuil Hall. 

There are circumstances of peculiar and beautiful cor- 
respondence in the careers of Virginia and New England, 
which must ever constitute a bond of sympathy, affection 
and pride, between their children. Not only did they form 

25 respectively the great northern and southern rallying-points 
of civilization on this continent — not only was the most 
friendly competition, or the most cordial cooperation, as 
circumstances allowed, kept up between them during their 
early colonial existence — but who forgets the generous 

30 emulation, the noble rivalry, with which they continually 
challenged and seconded each other in resisting the first 
beginnings of British aggression, in the persons of their 
James Otises and Patrick Henrys ? 

Who forgets, that, while that resistance was first brought 

35 to a practical test in New England at Lexington and Con- 
cord and Bunker Hill, fortune, as if resolved to restore the 
balance of renown between the two, reserved for the York- 



EX. LXXV.] RHETOHICAL READING. 827 

town of Virginia the last crowning victory of independ- 
ence ? Who forgets that, while the hand by which the 
original declaration of that independence was drafted was 
furnished by Virginia, the tongue by which the adoption 

5 of that instrument was defended and secured was supplied 
by New England — a bond of common glory, upon which 
not death alone seemed to set his seal, but Deity, I had 
almost said, to affix an immortal sanction, when the spirits 
by which that hand and tongue were moved were caught 

10 up together to the clouds on the same great day of the 
nation's jubilee. 

Nor let me omit to allude to a peculiar distinction 
which belongs to Virginia alone. It is her preeminent 
honor and pride, that the name which the whole country 

15 acknowledges as that of a Father she can claim as that 
of a son — a name at which comparison ceases — to which 
there is nothing similar, nothing second — a name com- 
bining in its associations all that was most pure and godly 
in the nature of the pilgrims, with all that was most brave 

20 and manly in the character of the patriots — a name above 
every name in the annals of human liberty ! 

But I cannot refrain from adding, that not more does 
the fame of Washington surpass that of every other public 
character which America or the world at large has yet 

25 produced, than the New England colony, in its origin and 
its influences, its objects and its results, excels that from 
which Washington was destined to proceed. 

In one point, indeed, and that, it is true, a point of no 
inconsiderable moment, the colonies of Jamestown and 

30 Plymouth were alike. Both were colonies of English- 
men; — and in running down the history of our country 
from its first colonization to the present hour, I need hardly 
say that no single circumstance can be found which has 
exercised a more propitious and elevating influence upon 

35 its fortunes than the English origin of its settlers. 

Not to take up time in discussing either the abstract 
adaptation of the Anglo-Saxon character to the circum- 
stances of a new country, or its relative capacity for the 
establishment and enjoyment of free institutions, — the 

40 most cursory glance at the comparative condition, past or 
present, of those portions of the new world which were 
planted by other nations is amply sufficient to illustrate 
this idea. Indeed, our own continent affords an illustra- 
tion of it impressed upon us anew by recent events in the 



328 Parker's EXERCISE SIN [ex. lxxv. 

Canadian colonies, which renders any reference to the 
other entirely superfluous. The contrast between the 
social, moral and intellectual state of the two parts of 
North America which were peopled respectively by Eng- 
5 lishmen and Frenchmen has been often alluded to. But 
a Comparison of their political conditions exhibits differ- 
ences still more striking. 

Go back to the period immediately preceding the stamp 
act, and survey the circumstances of the two portions of 

10 country, as they then existed. Both are in a state of 
colonial dependence on Great Britain. But the one has 
just been reduced to that state by force of arms. 

Its fields and villages have just been the scenes of the 
pillage and plunder which always march in the train of 

15 conquest; the allegiance of their owners has been vio- 
lently transferred to new masters as the penalty of defeat; 
and, to keep alive the more certainly the vindictive 
feelings which belong to the bosoms of a vanquished peo- 
ple, and to frustrate the more entirely the natural influ- 

20 ences of time and custom in healing up the wounds which 
such a subjugation has inflicted, the laws of their con- 
querors are enacted and administered in a strange tongue, 
and one which continually reminds them that the yoke 
under which they have passed is that of a nation towards 

25 which they have an hereditary hatred. 

The people of the other portion, on the contrary, owe 
their relation to the common sovereign of them both, to 
nothing but their own natural and voluntary choice — feel 
towards the nation over which he presides nothing but the 

30 attachment and veneration of children towards the parent 
of their pride, and are bound to it by the powerful ties of a 
common history, a common language, and a common blood. 
Tell me, now, which of the two will soonest grow impatient 
of its colonial restraint, soonest throw off its foreign subor- 

35 dination, and soonest assert itself free and independent ? 

And what other solution can any one suggest to the 

problem presented by the fact as it exists — the very 

reverse of that which would thus have been predicted — 

what other clue can any one offer to the mystery, that 

40 the French colonies should have remained, not entirely 
quietly, indeed, but with only occasional returns of inef- 
fectual throes and spasms, up to this very hour, in a polit- 
ical condition which everything would seem to have 
conspired to render loathsome and abhorrent — while the 



EX. LXXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 329 

English colonies, snapping alike every link either of love 
or of power, breaking every bond both of affection and 
authority, resolved themselves into an independent nation 
half a century ago, — what other explanation, I repeat, can 
5 any one give to this paradox fulfilled, than that which 
springs from a consideration of the comparative capacities 
for self-improvement and self-government of the races by 
which they were planted ? 

A common history, a common language, a common 

10 blood, were, indeed, links of no ordinary strength, betv^^een 
the Atlantic colonies and the mother country. But that 
language was the language in which Milton had sung, 
Pym pleaded, and Locke reasoned; that blood was the 
blood which Hampden had poured out on the plain of 

15 Chalgrove, and in which Sidney and Russell had weltered 
on the block of martyrdom ; and that history had been 
the history of toiling, struggling, but still-advancing liberty, 
for a thousand years. 

Such links could only unite the free. They lost their 

20 tenacity in a moment when attempted to be recast on the 
forge of despotism and employed in the service of oppres- 
sion; nay, the brittle fragments into which they were 
broken in such a process were soon moulded and tempered 
and sharpened into the very blades of a triumphant resist- 

25 ance. 

What more effective instruments, what more powerful 
incitements, did our fathers enjoy, in their revolutionary 
struggle, than the lessons afforded them in the language, 
the examples held up to them in the history, the principles, 

30 opinions and sensibilities, flowing from the hearts and 
vibrating through the veins, which they inherited from the 
very nation against which they vv^ere contending ! 

Yes, let us not omit, even on this day, when we com- 
memorate the foundation of a colony which dates back its 

35 origin to British bigotry and British persecution — even in 
this connection, too, when we are speaking of that contest 
for liberty which owed its commencement to British 
oppression and British despotism — to express our gratitude 
to God, that old England was, still, our mother country, 

40 and to acknowledge our obligations to our British ances- 
tors for the glorious capabihties which they bequeathed 
us. 

But with the single exception that both emigrated from 
England, the colonies of Jamestown and Plymouth had 
28^ 



330 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxv. 

nothing in common, and to all outward appearances the 
former enjoyed every advantage. The two companies, as 
it happened, though so long an interval elapsed between 
their reaching America, left their native land within about 
5 a year of each other ; but under what widely different cir- 
cumstances did they embark ! 

The former set sail from the port of the metropolis, in a 
squadron of three vessels, under an experienced com- 
mander, under the patronage of a wealthy and powerful 

10 corporation, and with an ample patent from the crown. 

The latter betook themselves to their solitary bark, by 
stealth, under cover of the night, and from a bleak and 
desert heath in Lincolnshire, while a band of armed horse- 
men, rushing down upon them before the embarkation was 

15 completed, made prisoners of all who were not already on 
board, and condemned husbands and wives, and parents 
and children, to a cruel and almost hopeless separation. 

Nor did their respective arrivals on the American shores, 
though divided by a period of thirteen years, present a less 

20 signal contrast. The Virginia colony entered the harbor 
of Jamestown about the middle of May, and never could 
that lovely Queen of Spring have seemed lovelier than 
when she put on her flowery kirtle and her wreath of 
clusters, to welcome those admiring strangers to the enjoy- 

25 ment of her luxuriant vegetation. 

There were no Mayflowers for the Pilgrims, save the 
name, written, as in mockery, on the stern of their treach- 
erous ship. They entered the harbor of Plymouth on the 
shortest day in the year, in this last quarter of Decem- 

30 ber, — and when could the rigid Winter-King have looked 
more repulsive, than when, shrouded with snow and 
crowned with ice, he admitted those shivering wanderers 
within the realms of his dreary domination ? 

But mark the sequel. From a soil teeming with every 

35 variety of production for food, for fragrance, for beauty, for 
profit, the Jamestown colonists reaped only disappointment, 
discord, wretchedness. Having failed in the great object 
of their adventure — the discovery of gold — they soon gTew 
weary of their condition, and within three years after their 

40 arrival are found on the point of abandoning the country. 

Indeed, they are actually embarked, one and all, with 

this intent, and are already at the mouth of the river, 

when, falling in with new hands and fresh supplies which 

have been sent to their relief, they are induced to return 

45 once more to their deserted village. 



EX. LXXV.] RHETORICAL HEADING. 331 

But even up to the very year in which the pilgrims 
landed, ten years after this renewal of their designs, they 
" had hardly become settled in their minds," had hardly 
abandoned the purpose of ultimately returning to Eng- 
5 land ; and their condition may be illustrated by the fact, 
that in 1619, and again in 1621, cargoes of young women, 
(a commodity of which there was scarcely a sample in the 
whole plantation — and would to God that all the traffic 
in human flesh on the Virginian coast, even at this early 

10 period, had been as innocent in itself and as beneficial in 

its results ! — ) were sent out by the corporation in London 

and sold to the planters for wives, at from one hundred and 

twenty to one hundred and fifty pounds of tobacco apiece ! 

Nor was the political condition of the Jamestown colony 

15 much in advance of its social state. The charter under 
which they came out contained not a single element of 
popular liberty, and secured not a single right or franchise 
to those who lived under it. 

And, though a gleam of freedom seemed to dawn upon 

20 them in 1619, when they instituted a Colonial Assembly 
and introduced the representative system for the first time 
into the new world, the precarious character of their 
popular institutions, and the slender foundation of their 
popular liberties, at a much later period, even as far down 

25 as 1671, may be understood from that extraordinary declar- 
ation of Sir William Berkeley, then Governor of Virginia, 
to the Lords Commissioners : — "I thank God, there are 
no free schools nor printing, and I hope we shall not 
have these hundred years; for learning has brought 

30 disobedience and heresy and sects into the world, and 
printing has divulged them and libels against the best 
government. God keep us from both." 

But how was it with the pilgrims ? From a soil of 
comparative barrenness, they gathered a rich harvest of 

35 contentment, harmony and happiness. Coming to it for 
no purpose of commerce or adventure, they found all they 
sought — religious freedom — and that made the wilderness 
to them like Eden, and the desert as the garden of the 
Lord. 

40 Of quitting it, from the very hour of their arrival, 
they seem never once to have entertained, or even con- 
ceived, a thought. The first foot that leaped gently but 
fearlessly on Plymouth rock was a pledge that there would 
be no retreating — tradition tells us that it was the foot 



382 PARKER^S EXERCISES IN [EX. LXXV. 

of Mary Chilton. They have brought their wives and 
their little ones with them ; and what other assurance could 
they give that they have come to their home ? 

And accordingly they proceed at once to invest it with 

5 all the attributes of home, and to make it a free and a 
happy home. The compact, of their own adoption, under 
which they landed, remained the sole guide of their gov- 
ernment for nine years ; and though it was then superseded 
by a charter from the corporation within whose limits they 

10 had fallen, it was a charter of a liberal and comprehensive 
character, and under its provisions they continued to lay 
broad and deep the foundations of civil freedom. 

The trial by jury was established by the pilgrims within 
three years after their arrival, and constitutes the appro- 

15 priate opening to the first chapter of their legislation. The 
education of their children, as we have seen, was one of 
their main motives for leaving Holland, and there is abun- 
dant evidence that it was among the earliest subjects of 
their attention; while the planters of Massachusetts, who 

20 need not be distinguished from the planters of Plymouth 
for any purposes of this comparison, founded the college at 
Cambridge in 1636 — set up a printing press at the same 
place in 1639, which " divulged," in its first workings, at 
least, nothing more libellous or heretical than a psalm-book 

25 and an almanac — and as early as 1647 had instituted, by 
an ever memorable statute, that noble system of New 
England free schools, which constitutes at this moment 
the best security of liberty wherever liberty exists, and its 
best hope wherever it is still to be established. 

30 It would carry me far beyond the allowable limits of this 
address, if, indeed, I have not already exceeded them, to 
contrast in detail the respective influences upon our coun- 
try, and, through it, upon the world, of these two original 
colonies. The elements for such a contrast I have already 

35 suggested, and I shall content myself with only adding 
further upon this point the recent and very remarkable tes- 
timony of two most intelligent French travellers, whose 
writings upon the United States have justly received such 
distinguished notice on both sides the Atlantic. 

40 " I have already observed," says De Tocqueville, that 
" the origin of the American settlements may be looked 
upon as the first and most efficacious cause to v/hich the 
present prosperity of the United States may be attributed. 
# # # "VVhen I reflect upon the consequences of this pri- 



EX. LXXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 333 

mary circumstance, methinks I see the destiny of America 
embodied in the first Purhan who landed on these shores, 
just as the human race was represented by the first man." 
" If we wished," says ChevaHer, " to form a single type, 
5 representing the American character of the present moment 
as a single whole, it would be necessary to take at least 
three-fourths of the Yankee race and to mix it with hardly 
one-fourth of the Virginian." 

But the Virginia type was not complete when it first 

10 appeared on the coast of Jamestown, and I must not omit, 
before bringing these remarks to a conclusion, to allude to 
one other element of any just comparison between the two 
colonies. 

The year 1620 was unquestionably the great epoch of 

15 American destinies. Within its latter half were included 
the two events which have exercised incomparably the 
most controlling influence on the character and fortunes of 
our country. iVt the very time the Mayflower, with its 
precious burden, was engaged in its perilous voyage to 

20 Plymouth, another ship, far otherwise laden, wjjs approach- 
ing the harbor of Virginia. 

It was a Dutch man-of-war, and its cargo consisted in 
part of twenty slaves, which were subjected to sale on their 
arrival, and with which the foundations of domestic slavery 

25 in North America were laid. 

I see those two fate-freighted vessels, laboring under the 
divided destinies of the same nation, and striving against 
the billows of the same sea, like the principles of good and 
evil advancing side by side on the same great ocean of 

30 human life. 

I hear from the one the sighs of wretchedness, the 
groans of despair, the curses and clankings of struggling 
captivity, sounding and swelling on the same gale which 
bears only from the other the pleasant voices of prayer and 

35 praise, the cheerful melody of contentment and happiness, 
the glad, the glorious " anthem of the free." 

Oh, could some angel arm, like that which seems to 
guide and guard the pilgrim bark, be now interposed to 
arrest, avert, dash down and overwhelm, its accursed com- 

10 peer! But it may not be. They have both reached in 
safety the place of their destination. Freedom and Slavery, 
in one and the same year, have landed on these American 
shores. And American liberty, like the victor of ancient 
Rome, is doomed — let us hope not forever — to endure 



334 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxv. 

the presence of a fettered captive as a companion in her 
car of triumph ! 

It has been suggested, gentlemen, by one of the French 
travellers whose opinions I have just cited, that though the 
5 Yankee has set his mark on the United States during the 
last half century, and though " he still rules the nation," 
that yet the physical labor of civilization is now nearly 
brought to an end, the physical basis of society entirely 
laid, and that other influences are soon about to predomi- 

10 nate in rearing up the social superstructure of our nation. 

I hail the existence of this association, and of others like 

it in all parts of the Union, bound together by the noble 

cords of " friendship, charity, and mutual assistance," as a 

pledge that New England principles, whether in ascen- 

15 dency or under depression in the nation at large, will never 
stand in need of warm hearts and bold tongues to cherish 
and vindicate them. 

But, at any rate, let us rejoice that they have so long 
pervaded the country and prevailed in her institutions. 

20 Let us rejoice that the basis of her society has been laid 
by Yankee arms. Let us rejoice that the corner-stone of 
our republican edifice was hewn out from the old, original, 
primitive, Plymouth quarry. 

In what remains to be done, either in finishing or in 

25 ornamenting that edifice, softer and more pliable materials 
may, perhaps, be preferred; the New England granite 
may be thought too rough and unwieldy ; the architects 
may condemn it, the builders may reject it; but still, 
still, it will remain the deep and enduring foundation, not 

30 to be removed without undermining the whole fabric. 

A.nd should that fabric be destined to stand, even when 
bad government shall descend upon it like the rains, and 
corruption come round about it like the floods, and faction, 
discord, disunion and anarchy, blow and beat upon it like 

35 the winds, — as God grant it may stand forever ! — it will 
still owe its stability to no more eflective earthly influence 
than that it was founded on Pilgrim Rock. 

Hon. R. C. Winihr&p. 



EX. LXXVII.] RHETORICAL READING. 335 

EXERCISE LXXVI. 
Description of Mab, Queen of the Fairies. 

She is tlie fancy's midwife : and she comes 

In shape no bigger than an agate-stone 

On the fore-finger of an alderman, 

Drawn with a team of Httle atomies, 
5 Athwart men's noses, as they lie asleep ; 

Her wagon spokes made of long spinners' legs ; 

The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; 

The traces, of the smallest spider's web ; 

The collar 's of the moonshine's watery beams ; 
10 Her whip, of cricket's bone ; the lash, of film ; 

Her wagoner, a small gray-coated gnat ; 

Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut. 

Made by the joiner squirrel or old grub, 

Time out of mind the fairies' coachmakers. 
15 And in this state she shallops, night by night, 

Through lovers' brains, and then they dream of love : 

O'er laT\yers' fingers, who straight dream on fees : 

O'er ladies' lips, who straight on kisses drearii : 

And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig's tail, 
20 Tickling the parson as he lies asleep : 

Then dreams he of another benefice. 

Sometimes she driveth o'er a soldier's neck; 

And then he dreams of cutting foreign throats, 

Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades ; 
25 Of healths five fathoms deep : and then, anon, 

Drums in his ears ; at which he starts and wakes ; 

And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two — 

And sleeps again. Shakspeare. 



EXERCISE LXXVn. 

Progress of Freedom. 

Various have been the efibrts in the old world at pop- 
30 ular forms of government, but, from some cause or other, 
they have failed; and however time, a wider intercourse, 
a greater familiarity with the practical duties of represent- 
ation, and, not least of all, our own auspicious example, 
may prepare the European mind for the possession of re- 
35 publican freedom, it is very certain that, at the present 
moment, Europe is not the place for republics. 



*^36 Parker's exercises in [ex. Lxxvn. 

The true soil for these is our own continent, the new 
world, the last of the three great geographical divisions 
of which we have spoken. This is the spot on which the 
beautiful theories of the European philosopher — who 

5 had risen to the full freedom of speculation, while action 
was controlled — have been reduced to practice. The 
atmosphere here seems as fatal to the arbitrary institutions 
of the old world as that has been to the democratic 
forms of our own. It seems scarcely possible that any 

10 other organization than these latter should exist here. 

In three centuries from the discovery of the country, the 
various races by which it is tenanted — some of them from 
the least hberal of the European monarchies — have, with 
few exceptions, come into the adoption of institutions of a 

15 republican character. Toleration, civi] and religious, has 
been proclaimed, and enjoyed to an extent unknown since 
the world began, throughout the wide borders of this vast 
continent. Alas for those portions which have assumed 
the exercise of these rights without fully comprehending 

20 their import ! who have been intoxicated with the fumes 
of freedom, instead of drawing nourishment from its living 
principle ! 

It was fortunate, or, to speak more properly, a providen- 
tial thing, that the discovery of the new world was post- 
25 poned to the precise period when it occurred. Had it 
taken place at an earlier time — during the flourishing 
period of the feudal ages, for example — the old institu- 
tions of Europe, with their hallowed abuses, might have 
been ingrafted on this new stock, and, instead of the fruit 

30 of the tree of life, we should have furnished only varie- 
ties of a kind already far exhausted and hastening to 
decay. 

But, happily, some important discoveries in science, 
and, above all, the glorious Reformation, gave an electric 

35 shock to the intellect, long benumbed under the influence 
of a tyrannical priesthood. It taught men to distrust 
authority, to trace effects back to their causes, to search for 
themselves, and to take no guide but the reason which God 
had given them. It taught them to claim the right of 

40 free inquiry as their inalienable birthright, and, with free 
inquiry, freedom of action. The sixteenth and seven- 
teenth centuries were the period of the mighty struggle 
between the conflicting elements of religion, as the eigh- 
teenth and nineteenth have been that of the great contest 

45 for civil liberty. 



EX. LXXVII.] RHETORICAL READIPsG. 337 

It was in the midst of this universal ferment, and in 
consequence of it, that these shores were first peopled by 
our Puritan ancestors. Here they found a world where 
they might verify the value of those theories which had 
5 been derided as visionary, or denounced as dangerous, in 
• their own land. All around was free — free as nature 
herself: the mighty streams rolling on in their majesty, 
as they had continued to roll from the creation ; the for- 
ests, which no hand had violated, flourishing in primeval 

10 grandeur and beauty — their only tenants the wild animals, 
or the Indians, nearly as wild, scarcely held together by 
any tie of social polity. 

Nowhere was the trace of civilized man or of his curi- 
ous contrivances. Here was no Star Chamber nor Court 

15 of High Commission ; no racks, nor jails, nor gibbets ; no 
feudal tyrant, to grind the poor man to the dust on which 
he toiled; no Inquisition, to pierce into the thought, and 
to make thought a crime. The only eye that was upon 
them was the eye of Heaven. 

20 True, indeed, in the first heats of suffermg enthusiasm, 
they did not extend that charity to others which they 
claimed for themselves. It was a blot on their characters, 
but one which they share in common with most reformers. 
The zeal requisite for great revolutions, whether in church 

25 or state, is rarely attended by charity for difference of 
opinion. Those who are willing to do and to suffer brave- 
ly for their own doctrines attach a value to them which 
makes them impatient of opposition from others. 

The martyr for conscience' sake cannot comprehend the 

30 necessity of leniency to those who denounce those truths 
for which he is prepared to lay down his own life. If he 
set so little value on his own life, is it natural he should 
set more on that of others ? The Dominican, who dragged 
his victims to the fires of the Inquisition in Spain, freely 

35 gave up his ease and his life to the duties of a missionary 
among the heathen. The Jesuits, who suffered martyrdom 
among the American savages in the propagation of their 
faith, stimulated those very savages to their horrid massa- 
cres of the Protestant settlements of New England. God 

40 has not often combined charity with enthusiasm. When 
he has done so, he has produced his noblest work — a 
More, or a Fenelon. 

But if the first settlers were intolerant in practice, they 
brought with them the living principle of freedom, which 
29 



338 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxviii. 

would survive when their generation had passed away. 
They could not avoid it; for their coming here was in 
itself an assertion of that principle. They came for con- 
science' sake — to worship God in their own way. Free- 
5 dom of political institutions they at once avowed. Every 
citizen took his part in the political scheme, and enjoyed 
- all the consideration of an equal participation in civil priv- 
ileges : and liberty in political matters gradually brought 
with it a corresponding liberty in religious concerns. 

10 In their subsequent contest with the mother country 
they learned a reason for their faith, and the best manner 
of defending it. Their liberties struck a deep root in the 
soil, amid storms which shook but could not prostrate 
them. It is this struggle with the mother country, this 

15 constant assertion of the right of self-government, this ten- 
dency — feeble in its beginning, increasing with increasing 
age — towards republican institutions, which connects the 
colonial history with that of the Union, and forms the 
true point of view from which it is to be regarded. 

W. H. Prescott. 



EXERCISE LXXVIII. 

The Meeting of the Waters. 

20 There is not in the wide world a valley so sweet 
As that vale in whose bosom the bright waters meet; 
Oh ! the last rays of feeling and life must depart, 
Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart. 
Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the scene 
25 Her purest of crystal, the brightest of green ; 
'T was not the soft magic of streamlet or hill. 
Oh ! no — it was something more exquisite still. 

'T was that friends, the beloved of my bosom, were near, 
Who made each dear scene of enchantment more dear, 
30 And who felt how the best charms of nature improve, 
When we see them reflected from looks that we love. 

Sweet vale of Ovoca ! how calm could I rest 
In thy bosom of shade with the friends I love best, 
Where the storms which we feel in this cold world should 
35 cease, 

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled in peace ! 

T. Moore. 



EX. LXXrX.] RHETORICAL READING. 339 

EXERCISE LXXIX. 

Extracts from the Inaugural Address of the Mayor of 
Boston. 

Our municipal charter requires that the mayor shall 
communicate to the two branches of the City Council 
such information, and recommend such measures, as may 
promote the improvement and substantial interests of 
5 Boston. It is not becoming that I should enter even upon 
this minor and incipient duty without tendering, as I now 
do, through you, to my fellow-citizens, my grateful acknowl- 
edgments for the confidence with which they have seen 
fit to honor me. 

10 At present, all that I can offer in exchange for an un- 
sought and unexpected demonstration of popular favor, is 
the solemn promise that I will faithfully devote whatever 
energies I possess to the promotion of the public welfare, 
unswayed by any other considerations or influence than 

15 my deliberate convictions of right. 

I am fully aware that in the discharge of my official 
duties I must come in collision with the interests, the 
prejudices, the passions, of a greater or less number of 
my constituents, and am perfectly content to abide the re- 

20 suit. Such has been the fortune of all my predecessors, 
and I cannot expect to fare better than they. 

Much as I value the good will and love of the people 
among whom I have dwelt these thirty winters, yet, if it 
happen that, in consequence of pursuing the course which 

25 my judgment and conscience may approve, my adminis- 
tration should fail to be acceptable to the popular majority, 
I shall retire to private life with far more pleasure than I 
experience in assuming the responsibilities of office, 

Boston and its environs, within a radius of five miles, 

30 contains at least two hundred and ten thousand inhabit- 
ants. The city proper has about one hundred and thirty 
thousand inhabitants, with an assessed valuation of one 
hundred and sixty-seven millions of dollars. So large an 
accumulation of people and wealth on a single spot, within 

85 a region of our country so little favored by nature, could 
hardly have been anticipated. 

The sterile soil, the rugged surface, the stern climate, 
and the want of navigable streams, in New England, would 
seem to have rendered it improbable that it would ever be 

40 considerably peopled, or that any great commercial mart 



340 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxix. 

should arise within its borders. It would seem that 
such would exist only within the more central or south- 
erly portions of the Union, under more genial skies, and 
in the vicinity of the great natural routes of intercom- 
5 munication. 

But the resolution and intelligent industry of our fathers 
surmounted every obstacle. The region, sneeringly stig- 
matized as having no natural productions for export but 
" granite and ice," now teems with three millions of the 

10 children of freedom, abounding in the comforts of civil- 
ized life — and its metropolis ranks with the great cities 
of the globe. 

It is to be borne in mind also, that that metropolis be- 
came an important city long before science and art had 

15 cut in sunder the hills, elevated the vales, and spanned 
the running waters, to unite her comxmerce in easy and 
rapid communication with more favored climes. If our 
people could achieve a position so prominent while desti- 
tute of any of the facilities of intercourse with the inte- 

20 rior with which the cities of the sunny South are so 
abundantly blessed, what may we not expect of the future 
destiny of Boston, now that her iron highways, extending 
in all directions, bring her into convenient proximity with 
every section of the land ? 

25 They who could effect so much under the most repel- 
ling circumstances may be depended upon to avail them- 
selves to the full of their new and ample advantages. 
The long winter of New England isolation is broken, — 
she warms and flourishes in friendly and thrifty inter- 

30 course with the luxuriant West; and it is not too much to 
anticipate that the day will come, when there will be no 
greater or more prosperous city upon the American conti- 
nent than the City of the Pilgrims. 

This view of the prospects of Boston leads me to speak 

35 of our schools, — education being the true basis of our 
institutions, and the real secret of New England progress 
and power. Our schools are believed never to have been 
more deserving of confidence and support than at the 
present time. 

40 There are now in the city, sustained at the public 
charge, one hundred and eighty-eight schools, with nine- 
teen thousand and sixty-four pupils in attendance. There 
has been expended from the treasury for these schools, 
within the past year, three hundred and forty-six thou- 



EX. LXXIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 341 

sand five hundred and seventy-two dollars, including the 
amount paid on account of new edifices. There is no 
expense which the people of Boston more willingly incur 
than that which is necessary for the support of the pub- 
5 lie schools; but it cannot be their intention to authorize 
unnecessary outlays for this, or any other object what- 
ever. 

With this conviction, I cannot but regret what appears 
to me to have been the extraordinary cost of erecting 
10 some of the newer school-houses. The splendor of the 
edifice is no guarantee for the education of the pupil ; who 
is as efficiently fitted for the great duties of life in the 
older and less pretending seminaries of the city as in the 
magnificent structures of the present period. 

JQ ^ T^ W -T? W W 

The erring and abandoned should be treated as children 
of our common Father ; but society should not be expected 
to furnish costly accommodations for those who set its 
authority at naught. A prison should never be built with 

20 reference to show. It were better that it should be screened 
from observation, rather than elicit encomiums upon its 
architecture. In appearance, it can never be other than 
a melancholy monument of the infirmities of our race; 
and it is not wise to whiten or garnish the sepulchre of 

25 shame. 

.Ai. Ji. .AL. -if, -ii, -ii. 

'Tf' "T^ ^ -T^ •Tr T'^ 

During the year whose advent we gratefully salute this 
morning, we are charged with duties of no ordinary re- 
sponsibility. The action neither of the state nor national 

30 governments bears with such immediate and sensible effects 
upon the happiness of the great family whom we represent 
as the conduct of their civic fathers. For our stewardship, 
brief though it be, we shall surely be held to account here 
and hereafter. Let us seek light and wisdom from on 

35 high. Let our supplication be, like that inscribed upon 
the escutcheon of Boston, in the classic characters of a 
distant age, — As God was to our fathers, so may he be 
unto us. — Hon. John P. Bigelow. 
2m 



342 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxi. 

jEXERCISE LXXX. 
AdarrCs Description of his First State of Consciousness 

As new waked from soundest sleep, 

Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid, 

In balmy sweat ; which with his beams the sun 

Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed. 
5 Straight toward heaven my wondering eyes I turned, 

And gazed a while the ample sky ; till, raised 

By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung. 

As thitherward endeavoring, and upright 

Stood on my feet. 
10 About me round I saw 

Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains. 

And liquid lapse of murmuring streams ; by these, 

Creatures that lived and moved, and walked or flew; 

Birds on the branches warbling ; all things smiled 
15 With fragrance, and with joy my heart o'erflowed. 
Myself I then perused, and limb by limb 

Surveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran 

With supple joints, as lively vigor led : 

But who I was, or where, or from what cause, 
20 Knew not. To speak I tried, and forthwith spake , 

My tongue obeyed, and readily could name 

Whate'er I saw. 

" Thou sun," said I, " fair light ! 

And thou enlightened earth, so fresh and gay ! 
25 Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods and plains. 

And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell, 

Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here !" Milton. 



EXERCISE LXXXI. 

Halifax. 

Among the statesmen of the age of Charles II., Halifax 

was, in genius, the first. His intellect was fertile, subtle, 

30 and capacious. His polished, luminous, and animated 

eloquence, set off by the silver tones of his voice, was the 

delight of the House of Lords. 

His conversation overflowed with thought, fancy, and 

wit. His political tracts well deserve to be studied for 

35 their literary merit, and fully entitle him to a place among 



EX. LXXXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 343 

English classics. To the weight derived from talents so 
great and various, he united all the influence which belongs 
to rank and ample possessions. 

Yet he was less successful in politics than many who 
5 enjoyed smaller advantages. Indeed, those intellectual 
peculiarities which make his writings valuable frequently 
impeded him in the contests of active life. For he always 
saw passing events, not in the point of view in which they 
commonly appear to one who bears a part in them, but in 

10 the point of view in which, after the lapse of many years, 
they appear to the philosophic historian. 

With such a turn of mind, he could not long continue 
to act cordially with any body of men. All the prejudices, 
all the exaggerations, of both the great parties in the state, 

15 moved his scorn. He despised the mean arts and unrea- 
sonable clamors of demagogues. He despised still more 
the Tory doctrines of divine right and passive obedience. 
He sneered impartially at the bigotry of the Churchman 
and the bigotry of the Puritan. He was equally unable to 

20 comprehend how any man should object to saints' days and 
surplices, and how any man should persecute any other 
man for objecting to them. 

In temper he was what, in our time, is called a conserv- 
ative. In theory he was a republican. Even when his 

25 dread of anarchy and his disdain for vulgar delusions led 
him to side for a time with the defenders of arbitrary 
power, his intellect was always with Locke and Milton. 
Indeed, his jests upon hereditary monarchy were sometimes 
such as would have better become a member of the Calf's 

30 Head Club than a privy councillor of the Stuarts, 

In religion he was so far from being a zealot, that he was 
called by the uncharitable an atheist : but this imputation 
he vehemently repelled; and in truth, though he some- 
times gave scandal by the way in which he exerted his 

35 rare powers both of argumentation and of ridicule on seri- 
ous subjects, he seems to have been by no means unsus- 
ceptible of religious impressions. 

He was the chief of those politicians whom the two 
great parties contemptuously called Trimmers. Instead 

'10 of quarrelling with this nickname, he assumed it as a title 
- of honor, and vindicated, with great vivacity, the dignity 
of the appellation. 

Everything good, he said, trims between extremes. The 
temperate zone trims between the climate in which men 



344 



PARKER'S EXERCISES IN EX. LXXXI. 



are roasted and the climate in which they are frozen. The 
English Church trims between the Anabaptist madness 
and the Papist lethargy. The English constitution trims 
between Turkish despotism and Polish anarchy. Virtue 
5 is nothing but a just temper between propensities, any one 
of which, if indulged to excess, becomes vice. Nay, the 
perfection of the Supreme Being himself consists in the 
exact equilibrium of attributes, none of which could pre- 
ponderate without disturbing the whole moral and physical 

10 order of the world. 

Thus Halifax was a trimmer on principle. He was also 
a trimmer by the constitution both of his head and of his 
heart. His understanding was keen, sceptical, inexhausti- 
bly fertile in distinctions and objections ; his taste refined ; 

15 his sense of the ludicrous exquisite ; his temper placid and 
forgiving, but fastidious, and by no means prone either to 
malevolence or to enthusiastic admiration. 

Such a man could not long be constant to any band of 
political allies. He must not, however, be confounded with 

20 the vulgar crowd of renegades. For though, like them, he 
passed from side to side, his transition was always in the 
direction opposite to theirs. He had nothing in common 
with those who fly from extreme to extreme, and who 
regard the party which they have deserted with an animos- 

25 ity far exceeding that of consistent enemies. 

His place was between the hostile divisions of the com- 
munity, and he never wandered far beyond the frontier of 
either. The party to which he at any moment belonged 
was the party which, at that moment, he Hked least, be- 

30 cause it was the party of which, at that moment, he had 
the nearest view. He was therefore always severe upon 
his violent associates, and was always in friendly relations 
with his moderate opponents. 

Every faction, in the day of its insolent and vindicti 

35 triumph, incurred his censure, and every faction, w!- 
vanquished and persecuted, found in him a protector 
his lasting honor it must be mentioned, that he att 
to save those victims whose fate has left the deep 
both on the Whig and on the Tory name. 

40 He had greatly distinguished himself in opp 
had thus drawn on himself the royal disple 
was indeed so strong that he was not adn' 
council of thirty without much difficulty a- 
tion. As soon, however, as he had obtp -* 



EX. LXiXn.] RHETORICAL READING. 345 

court, the charms of his manner and of his conversation 
made him a favorite. 

He was seriously alarmed by the violence of the public 
discontent. He thought that liberty was for the present 
5 safe, and that order and legitimate authority were in dan- 
ger. He therefore, as was his fashion, joined himself to 
the weaker side. Perhaps his conversion was not wholly 
disinterested. For study and reflection, though they had 
emancipated him from many vulgar prejudices, had left 

10 him a slave to vulgar desires. 

Money he did not want ; and there is no evidence that 
he ever obtained it by any means which, in that age, even 
severe censors considered as dishonorable ; but rank and 
power had strong attractions for him. He pretended, in- 

15 deed, that he considered titles and great offices as baits 
which could allure none but fools, that he hated business, 
pomp and pageantry, and that his dearest wish was to 
escape from the bustle and glitter of Whitehall to the 
quiet woods which surrounded his ancient hall at Rufford ; 

20 but his conduct was not a little at variance with his profes- 
sions. In truth, he wished to command the respect at once 
of courtiers and of philosophers; to be admired for attaining 
high dignities, and to be at the same time admired for 
despising them. — Macaulay. 



EXERCISE LXXXn. 

Description of Eve's first finding herself on Earth. 

25 That day I oft remember, when from sleep 
I first awaked, and found myself reposed. 
Under a shade, on flowers, much wondering where 
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. 
Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound 

30 Of waters issued from a cave, and spread 
Into a liquid plain, then stood unmoved, 
Pure as the expanse of heaven ; I thither went 
With unexperienced thought, and laid me down 

g. On the green bank, to look into the clear 

^ Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky. 
4.S I bent down to look, just opposite 
^ ^'mpe within the watery gleam appeared, 
Uendi^g iQ look on me : I started back, 



346 Parker's exercises m [ex. lxxxui. 

It started back : but pleased I soon returned, 
Pleased it returned as soon, with answering- looks 
Of sympathy and love : there I had fixed 
Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire, 
5 Had not a voice thus warned me : — 

What thou seest, 
" What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself ; 
With thee it came and goes ; but follow me, 
And I will bring thee where no shadow stays 

10 Thy coming, and thy soft embraces, he 

Whose image thou art; him thou shalt enjoy 
Inseparably thine, to him shalt bear 
Multitudes like thyself, and thence be called 
Mother of human race. 

15 What could I do, 

But follow straight, invisibly thus led ? 
Till I espied thee, fair indeed, and tall, 
Under a plantain, yet methought less fair, 
Less winning soft, less amiably mild, 

20 Than that smooth, watery image : back I turned ; 
Thou following, criedst aloud, Eeturn, fair Eve; 
Whom fliest thou ? whom thou flies t, of him thou art, 
His flesh, his bone ; to give thee being I lent 
Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart, 

25 Substantial life, to have thee by my side 
Henceforth an individual solace dear ; 
Part of my soul, I seek thee, and thee claim, 
My other half. With that thy gentle hand 
Seized mine : I yielded : and from that time see 

30 How beauty is excelled by manly grace, 

And wisdom, which alone is truly fair. Milton. 



EXERCISE LXXXIII. 

The Cant of Criticism. 

And how did Garrick speak the soliloquy last r 
O, against all rule, my lord; most ungramr 
!6etwixt the substantive and adjective (which si • 
35 together, in number, case, and gender) he m: 

thus — stopping as if the point wanted settlin ^, 

the nominative case (which your lordshir "^ 

^ govern the verb) he suspended his voice '-• le, a 



EX. LXXXIV.] RHETORICAL READING. 347 

dozen times, three seconds and three-fifths, by a stop- 
watch, my lord, each time — 

Admirable grammarian ! — But, in suspending his voice 
was the sense suspended likewise ? Did no expression of 
5 attitude or countenance fill up the chasm ? Was the eye 
silent ? Did you narrowly look ? 

I looked only at the stop-watch, my lord. 

Excellent observer ! And what of this new book the 
whole world makes such a rout about ? 
10 Oh ! 't is out of all plumb, my lord, — quite an irregular 
thing ! not one of the angles at the four corners was a 
right angle. I had my rule and compasses, my lord, in 
my pocket. 

Excellent critic ! 
15 And, for the epic poem your lordship bid me look at, — 
upon taking the length, breadth, height, and depth of it, 
and trying them at home upon an exact scale of Bossu's 

— 'tis out, my lord, in every one of its dimensions. 
Admirable connoisseur ! And did you step in to take a 

20 look at the grand picture in your way back ? 

'Tis a miolancholy daub, my lord; not one principle 
of the pyramid in any one group ! — And what a price ! 

— for there is nothing of the coloring of Titian — the ex-^ 
pression of Rubens — the grace of Raphael — the purity 

25 of Dominichino — the corregiescity of Correggio — the 
learning of Poussin — the airs of Guido — the taste of the 
Carrichis — or the grand contour of Angelo ! 

Grant me patience ! — Of all the cants which are canted 
in this canting world — though the cant of hj^pocrisy may 

30 be the worst — the cant of criticism is the most torment- 
ing ! 1 would go fifty miles on foot, to kiss the hand of 

that man whose generous heart will give up the reins of 
his imagination into his author's hands — be pleased, he 
knows not why and cares not wherefore. 



EXERCISE LXXXIV. 

Hotspur'' s Account of the Fop. 

'y liege, I did deny no prisoners, 
remember, when the fight was done, 
^ was dry with rage and extreme toil, 
.>s and faint, leaning upon my sword, 



348 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxv. 

Came there a certain lord ; neat, trimly dressed ; 

Fresh as a bridegroom ; and his chin, new reaped, 

Showed like a stubble land at harvest home. 
He was perfumed like a milliner; 
5 And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held 

A pouncet-box, which, ever and anon, 

He gave his nose 

And still he smiled and talked : 

And, as the soldiers bare dead bodies by, 
10 He called them " untaught knaves, unmannerly, 

To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse 

Betwixt the wind and his nobility." 
With many holiday and lady terms 

He questioned me ; amongst the rest, demanded 
15 My prisoners in your majesty's behalf. 

I then, all smarting with my wounds, being galled 

To be so pestered with a popinjay, 

Out of my grief and my impatience, 

Answered neglectingly — I know not what — 
20 He should or should not ; for he made me mad, 

To see him shine so brisk and smell so sweet, 

And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman. 

Of guns, and drums, and wounds, (heaven save the mark !) 

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth 
25 Was parmacity for an inward bruise ; 

And that it was great pity (so it was) 

This villanous saltpetre should be digged 

Out of the bowels of the harmless earth. 

Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed 
30 So cowardly ; and but for these vile guns — 

He would himself have been a soldier. 
This bald, unjointed chat of his, my lord, 

I answered indirectly, as I said ; 

And 1 beseech you, let not his report 
35 Come current for an accusation 

Betwixt my love and your high majesty. Shakspeare. 



r 



LESSON LXXXV. 



Extract from an Address delivered before the Boston Mer- 
cantile Library Association, Oct., 1845. 

Commerce has, in all ages, been the most formidable 
antagonist of war. That great struggle for the mastery, 



EX. LXXXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 319 

which has been going on, almost from the earliest syllable 
of recorded time, upon the theatre of human life, and 
which has been variously described and denominated, 
according to the aspect in which it has been regarded, or 
5 the object with which it was discussed — now as a strug- 
gle between aristocracy and democracy, and now as be- 
tween the few and the many — has been little more than 
a struggle between the mercantile and the martial spirit. 
For centuries, and cycles of centuries, the martial spirit 

10 has prevailed. The written history of the world is one 
long bloody record of its triumph. And it cannot have 
escaped any one, how, during the periods of its sternest 
struggles, it has singled out the commercial spirit as its 
most formidable foe. 

15 Look at ancient Sparta, for example ; the state which, 
more than any other, was organized upon a purely war 
principle ; though, to the credit of its founder be it spoken, 
with the view of defending its own territories, and not of 
encroaching upon the dominions of others. What was the 

20 first great stroke of policy adopted by the Lacedaemonian 
lawgiver to secure the supremacy of the martial spirit ? 
What did he primarily aim to accomplish by his extraor- 
dinary enactments in relation to food, currency, education, 
honesty and labor, of all sorts ? 

25 A Lacedsem'onian, happening to be at Athens when the 
court was sitting, was informed of a man who had just 
been fined for idleness. " Let me see the person," ex- 
claimed he, " who has been condemned for keeping up his 
dignity ! " What was the philosophy of the black broth, the 

30 iron money, the consummate virtue of successful theft, the 
sublime dignity of idleness ? It was the war system, 
intrenching itself, where alone it could be safe, on the 
ruins of commerce ! The annihilation of trade, and all 
its inducements, and all its incidents — the extermination 

35 of the mercantile spirit, root and branch — this was the 
only mode which the sagacious Lycurgus could devise for 
maintaining the martial character of Sparta. 

Plato, who knew something of the practical value of 
commerce, if it be true that it was by selling oil in Egypt 

40 that he was enabled to defray the expenses of those travels 
and studies by which he prepared himself to be one of the 
great lights of the world, bore witness to the wise adapta- 
tion of this policy to the end to be accomplished, when he 
declared that in a well regulated commonwealth the 
30 



350 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxv. 

citizens should not engage in commerce, because they 
would be accustomed to find pretexts for justifying conduct 
so inconsistent with what was manly and becoming, as 
would relax the strictness of the military spirit ; adding, 
5 that it had been better for the Athenians to have continued 
to send annually the sons of seven of their principal 
citizens to be devoured by the Minotaur, than to have 
changed their ancient manners, and become a maritime 
power. 

10 It is this irreconcilable hostility between the mercantile 
and the martial spirit which has led heroes, in all ages, to 
despise and deride the pursuits of trade — from the heroes 
of the Homeric age of ancient Greece, with whom a pirate 
is said to have been a more respected character than a 

15 merchant, to him of modern France, who could find no 
severer sarcasm for his most hated foes than to call them 
" a nation of shopkeepers." 

The madman of Macedonia, as he is sometimes called, 
but to whom, by one having occasion for military talents, 

20 might well have been applied the remark of George the 
Second, in reference to General Wolfe, that he wished, if 
Wolfe were mad, he could have bitten some of the rest 
of his generals — after he had overrun almost the whole 
habitable earth, did, indeed, in despair of finding any more 

25 dominions on the land to conquer, turn to the sea, to obtain 
fresh opportunity for gratifying his insatiate ambition. 

He projected a voyage for his fleet, from the Indus to 
the mouth of the Euphrates. Commercial views are 
sometimes regarded as having mingled with the ambition 

30 which prompted this undertaking. It has been called the 
first event of general importance to mankind in the his- 
tory of commerce and navigation, and has been thought 
worthy of being commemorated, on the page of its learned 
historian, by a medallion, on which the head of its heroic 

35 projector is illuminated by the proud inscription, '-'■ aperiain 
terras gentihusy 

Let us transport ourselves, gentlemen, for an instant, 
to a region recently rendered familiar by the events of 
Afghanistan and Scinde ; and, turning back the page of 

40 history for a little more than two thousand years, catch a 
glimpse of the character and circumstances of this memora- 
ble voyage. 

Alexander, it seems, is at first sorely puzzled to find 
any one willing to assume the hazardous dignity of leading 



EX. LXXXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 351 ' 

such an expedition. At length, Nearchus, a Cretan, is 
pressed into the service, and is duly installed as admiral 
of the fleet. Two thousand transports and eighty galleys, 
of thirty oars each, are laboriously fitted out, and the hero 
5 accompanies them in person, in a perilous passage, down 
the Indus to the ocean. 

He approaches the mighty element, not in that mood 
of antic and insolent presumption which other madmen 
before and since have displayed on similar occasions. He 

10 throws no chains upon it, as Xerxes is narrated to have 
done, a century and a half earlier. He orders no host of 
spearmen to charge upon it, as Caligula did, three or four 
centuries afterwards. 

He does not even venture to try the eflfect of his impe- 

15 rial voice, in hushing its stormy billows, and bidding its 
proud waves to stay themselves at his feet, as Canute did, 
still a thousand years later. On the contrary, he humbles 
himself before its sublime presence — he offers splendid 
sacrifices, and pours out rich libations to its divinities, 

20 and puts up fervent prayers for the success and safety of 
his fleet. 

Nearchus is then directed to wait two months for a 
favorable monsoon. But a revolt of certain savage tribes 
in the neighborhood compels him to anticipate its arrival, 

25 and he embarks and enters upon his voyage. At the end 
of six days, — two of which, however, were passed at anchor, 
— the fleet had advanced rather more than nine miles! 
After digging away a bar at the mouth of the Indus, a 
little more progress is made, and a sandy island reached, 

30 on which all hands are indulged with a day's rest. 

Again the anchors are weighed, but soon again the 
violence of the winds suspends all operations ; the whole 
host are a second time landed, and remain upon shore for 
four-and-twenty days. Once more the voyage is renewed ; 

35 but once more the winds rage furiously ; two of the gal- 
leys and a transport are sunk in a gale, and their crews 
are seen swimming for their lives. 

A third time all hands disembark and fortify a camp. 
The long-expected monsoon at length sets in, and they 

40 start afresh, and with such accelerated speed as to accom- 
plish thirty-one miles in the first twenty-four hours. But 
then, a four days' battle with the natives far more than 
counterbalances this unlooked-for speed. Soon after, 
however, a pilot is fallen in with, who engages to conduct 

45 them to the Persian Gulf. 



352 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxv. 

Under his auspices, they venture for the first time to 
sail by night, when they can have the benefit of the land 
breeze, and when the rowers, relieved from the heat of the 
sun, can exert themselves to better advantage. And now 
5 they are making almost twice as many miles in the twenty- 
four hours as before, when lo ! a new trouble arrests their 
course. Huge columns of water are seen thrown up into 
the air before them. The explanation of the pilot, that 
they are but the sportful spoutings of a huge fish, only adds 

10 to their alarm. If such be his sport, what must his wrath 
be ? All hands drop their oars in a panic ! 

The admiral, however, exhorts them to dismiss their 
fears, and directs them, when a whale advances towards 
them, to bear down upon it bravely, and scare it from their 

15 path with shouts, and dashing of oars, and sounding of 
trumpets ! The entrance of the Persian Gulf, a distance 
of about six hundred miles, is at length reached ; the first 
and most difficult stage of the enterprise is accomplished ; 
and the admiral, having hauled all his vessels ashore, and 

20 fortified them by a double intrenchment, proceeds to give 
the joyful tidings to his imperial master, who has kept 
along at no great distance from him on the coast, and they 
unite in offering the sacrifices of thanksgiving to Jupiter, 
Apollo, Hercules, Neptune, and I know not how many other 

25 deities of land, air, and ocean ! 

Such is a summary sketch of this first event of general 
importance to mankind in the history of navigation ; an 
event which, though its details may excite the laughter of 
a Nantucket or New Bedford whaleman, or even of a 

30 Marblehead or a Barnstable sailor boy, was counted among 
the gravest and grandest exploits of that unrivalled hero 
of antiquity, who took Achilles for his model, and could 
not sleep without Aristotle's copy of the Iliad under his 
pillow. 

35 If any commercial views are justly ascribed to the pro- 
jector of such an expedition, it furnishes an early and 
striking illustration of the idea, which the general current 
of history has since confirmed, that the mercantile and 
martial spirits were never to be the subjects of reconcilia- 

40 tion and compromise, nor commerce destined to be seen 
yoked to the car, and decorating the triumph, of military 
ambition. 

At all events, it supplies an amusing picture of the nav- 
igation of those early days, and shows how poorly provided 



EX. LXXXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 353^ 

and appointed was the mercantile spirit of antiquity for its 
great mission of civilization and peace. Transports and 
triaconters, skimming along the coast without a compass, 
and propelled by oarsmen who were panic-stricken at the 
5 spouting of a whale, were not the enginery by which com- 
merce was to achieve its world-wide triumphs. 

And it was another admiral than Nearchus, not yielding 
himself reluctantly to the call of an imperious sovereign, 
bat prompted by the heroic impulses of his own breast, 

10 and offering up his prayers and oblations at another shrine 
than that of Jupiter or Neptune, who, in a still far distant 
age, was to open the world to the nations, give the com- 
mercial spirit sea-room, and lend the original impulse to 
those great movements of navigation and trade by which 

15 the whole face of society has been transformed. 

Well might the mail-clad monarchs of the earth refuse 
their countenance to Columbus, and reward his matchless 
exploit with beggary and chains. He projected, he accom- 
plished that, which, in its ultimate and inevitable conse- 

20 quences, was to wrest from their hands the implements of 
their ferocious sport — to break their bow and snap their 
spear in sunder, and all but to extinguish the source of 
their proudest and most absolute prerogative. 

" No kingly conqueror, since time began 
25 The long career of ages, hath to man 

A scope so ample given for Trade's bold range, 

Or caused on earth's wide stage such rapid, mighty change." 

From the discovery of the new world, the mercantile 
spirit has been rapidly gaining upon its old antagonist; 

30 and the establishment upon these shores of our own repub- 
lic — whose Union was the immediate result of commercial 
necessities, whose independence found its original impulse 
in commercial oppressions, and of whose constitution the 
regulation of commerce was the first leading idea — may 

35 be regarded as the epoch at which the martial spirit finally 
lost a supremacy which, it is believed and trusted, it can 
never re-acquire. 

Yes, it is commerce which is fast exorcising the fell 
spirit of war from nations which it has so long been tearing 

40 and rending. The merchant may, indeed, almost be seen 
at this moment summoning the rulers of the earth to his 
counting-desk, and putting them under bonds to keep the 
peace. 

30^ 



354 Parker's exercises in. [ex. lxxxvi. 

Upon what do we ourselves rely, to counteract the influ- 
ence of the close approximation of yonder flaming planet 
to our sphere ? Let me rather say, (for it is not in our 
stars, but in ourselves, that we are to look for the causes 
5 which have brought the apprehensions of war once more 
home to our hearts,) upon what do we rely, to save us from 
the bloody arbitrament of questions of mere territory and 
boundary, into which our own arbitrary and ambitious 
views would plunge us ? 

10 To what do we look to prevent a protracted strife with 
Mexico, if not to arrest even the outbreak of hostilities — 
but to the unwillingness of the great commercial powers 
that the trade of the West Indies and of the Gulf should 
be interrupted ? Why is it so confidently pronounced that 

15 Great Britain will never go to war with the United States 
for Oregon ? Why, but that trade has created such a Si- 
amese ligament between the two countries that every blow 
upon us would be but as a blow of the right arm upon the 
left? Why, but that in the smoke-pipe of every steamer 

20 which brings her merchandise to our ports, we see a calu- 
met of peace, which her war-chiefs dare not extinguish? 

Commerce has, indeed, almost realized ideas which the 
poet, in his wildest fancies, assumed as the very standard 
of impossibility. We may not " charm ache with air, or 

25 agony with words ; " but may we not " fetter strong mad- 
ness with a cotton thread ? " Yes, that little fibre, which 
was not known as a product of the North American soil 
when our old colonial union with Great Britain was dis- 
solved, has already been spun, by the ocean-moved power- 

30 loom of international commerce, into a thread which may 
fetter forever the strong madness of war ! 

Hon. R. C. Winthrop. 



EXERCISE LXXXVI. 

. Soliloquy of Claudius {Hamlefs Uncle) on the Murder of 
his Brother. 

Oh ! my offence is rank : it smells to heaven ! 
It hath the primal, eldest curse upon 't ! — 
A brother's murder I — Pray I cannot, 
35 Though inclination be as sharp as 't will ; 
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent ; 



EX. LXXXVII.] RHETORICAL READING. 355 

And, like a man to double business bound, 

I stand in pause where I shall first begin, 

And both neglect. 

What if this cursed hand 
5 Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ! 

Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens 

To wash it white as snow ? Whereto serves mercy. 

But to confront the visage of offence ? 

And what 's in prayer, but this two-fold force ; — 
10 To be forestalled, ere we come to fall, 

Or pardoned, being down ? — Then I'll look up. 
My fault is past. But, oh ! what form of prayer 

Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ? 

That cannot be, since I am still possessed 
15 Of those effects for which I did the murder — 

My crown, my own ambition and my queen. 

May one be pardoned and retain the offence ? 

In the corrupted currents of this world, 

Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice ; 
20 And oft 't is seen, the wicked prize itself 

Buys out the laws. But 't is not so above. 

There is no shuffling : there the action lies 

In its true nature, and we ourselves compelled, 

Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults, 
25 To give in evidence. 

What then ? what rests ? — 

Try what repentance can — what can it not ? — 

Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ? — 

Oh wretched state ! Oh bosom black as death ! — 
80 Oh limed soul, that, struggling to be free, 

Art more engaged ! — Help, angels ! — Make assay ! 

Bow, stubborn knees ! and heart, with strings of steel, 

Be soft as sinews of a new-born babe ! 

All may be well. Shakspeare. 



EXERCISE LXXXVn. 

Charity. 

[13th Chapter of 1st Corinthians.] 

35 Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, 
and have not charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a 
tinkling cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, 



356 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxvhi. 

and understand all mysteries and all knowledge; and 
though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, 
and have not charity, I am nothing. And though I bestow 
all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body 
5 to be burned, and have not charity, it profiteth me nothing. 

Charity suffereth long, and is kind ; charity envieth not ; 
charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not be- 
have itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily 
provoked, thinketh no evil ; rejoiceth not in iniquity, but 
10 rejoiceth in the truth; beareth all things, believeth all 
things, hopeth all things, endure th all things. 

Charity never faileth ; but whether there be prophecies, 
they shall fail; whether there be tongues, they shall 
cease ; whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away. 
15 For we know in part, and we prophesy in part. But when 
that which is perfect is come, then that which is in part 
shall be done away. 

When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as 

a child, I thought as a child : but when I became a man, 

20 I put away childish things. For now we see through a 

glass, darkly ; but then face to face : now I know in part ; 

but then shall 1 know even as also I am known. 

And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three ; but 
the greatest of these is charity. 



EXERCISE LXXXVm. 

Farewell. 

25 Farewell ! but whenever you welcome the hour, 
Which awakens the night song of mirth in your bower, 
Then think of the friend who once welcomed it too, 
And forgot his own griefs to be happy with you. 
His griefs may return ; not a hope may remain, 

30 Of the few that have brightened his pathway of pain, 
But he ne'er will forget the short vision that threw 
Its enchantments around him, while lingering with you. 

And still on that evening, when pleasure fills up 
To the highest top sparkle each heart and each cup, 

35 Where'er my path lies, be it gloomy or bright. 

My soul, happy friends ! shall be with you that night ; 
Shall join in your revels, your sports and your wiles, 
And return to me, beaming all o'er with vour smiles ! — 



EX. LXXXEX.] RHETORICAL READING. 357 

Too blest, if it tells me, that, 'mid the gay cheer, 

Some kind voice had murmured, " I wish he were here ! " 

Let fate do her worst ; there are relics of joy. 
Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy ; 
5 And which come, in the night-time of sorrow and care, 
To bring back the features that joy used to wear. 
Long, long be my heart with such memories filled ! — 
Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled — 
You may break, you may ruin, the vase if you will, 
10 But the scent of the roses will hang round it still. 

T. Moore. 



EXERCISE LXXXIX. 

English Travellers. 

In the present age of high literary activity, travellers 
make not the least important demands on public attention, 
and their lucubrations, under whatever name — Rambles, 
Notices, Incidents, Pencillings — are nearly as important 

15 a staple for the " trade " as novels and romances. A book 
of travels, formerly, was a very serious affair. The trav- 
eller set out on his distant journey with many a solemn 
preparation, made his will, and bade adieu to his friends 
like one who might not again return. If he did return, 

20 the results were imbodied in a respectable folio, or at least 
quarto, well garnished with cuts, and done up in a solid 
form, which argued that it was no fugitive publication, but 
destined for posterity. 

All this is changed. The voyager nowadays leaves 

25 home with as little ceremony and leave-taking as if it 
\tere for a morning's drive. He steps into the bark that 
is to carry him across thousands of miles of ocean, with " 
the moral certainty of returning in a fixed week, almost 
at a particular day. Parties of gentlemen and ladies go 

30 whizzing along in their steamships over the track which 
cost so many weary days to the Argonauts of old, and run 
over the choicest scenes of classic antiquity, scattered 
through Europe, Asia, and Africa, in less time than it 
formerly took to go from one end of the British isles to 

35 the other. 

The Cape of Good Hope, so long the great stumbling- 
block to the navigators of Europe, is doubled, or the Red 
Sea coasted, in the same way, by the fashionable tourist, 



358 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxdc. 

— who glides along the shores of Arabia, Persia, Afghan- 
istan, Bombay, and Hindostan, further than the furthest 
limits of Alexander's conquests — before the last leaves of 
the last new novel which he has taken by the way are 
5 fairly cut. The facilities of communication have, in fact, 
so abridged .distances, that geography, as we have hitherto 
studied it, may be said to be entirely reformed. Instead 
of leagues, we now compute by hours, and we find our- 
selves next-door neighbors to those whom we had looked 

10 upon as at the antipodes. 

The consequence of these improvements in the means 
of intercourse is, that all the world goes abroad, or, at 
least, one half is turned upon the other. Nations are so 
mixed up by this process that they are in some danger of 

15 losing their idiosyncrasy ; and the Egyptian and the 
Turk, though they still cling to their religion, are becom- 
ing European in their notions and habits more and more 
every day. 

The taste for pilgrimage, however, it m^ust be owned, 

20 does not stop with the countries where it can be carried 
on with such increased facility. It has begotten a nobler 
spirit of adventure, something akin to what existed in the 
fifteenth century, when the world was new, or newly dis- 
covering, and a navigator who did not take in sail, like 

25 the cautious seamen of Knickerbocker, might run down 
some strange continent in the dark ; for in these times of 
dandy tourists and travel-mongers, the boldest achieve- 
ments, that have hitherto defied the most adventurous 
spirits, have been performed : the Himmaleh Mountains 

30 have been scaled, the Niger ascended, the burning heart 
of Africa penetrated, the icy Arctic and Antarctic explored, 
and the mysterious monuments of the semi-civilized races 
of Central America have been thrown open to the public 
gaze. It is certain that this is a high-pressure age, and 

35 every department of science and letters, physical and men- 
tal, feels its stimulating influence. 

No nation, on the whole, has contributed so largely to 
these itinerant exhibitions as the English. Uneasy, it 
would seem, at being cooped up in their little isle, they 

40 sally forth in all directions, swarming over the cultivated 
and luxurious countries of the neighboring continent, or 
sending out stragglers on other more distant and formida- 
ble missions. Whether it be that their soaring spirits are 
impatient of the narrow quarters which nature has as- 



EX. LXXXIX.J RHETORICAL READING. 359 

Signed them, or that there exists a supernumerary class of 
idlers, who, wearied with the monotony of home, and the 
same dull round of dissipation, seek excitement in strange 
scenes and adventures ; or whether they go abroad for the 
5 sunshine, of which they have heard so much but seen so 
little — whatever be the cause, they furnish a far greater 
number of tourists than all the world besides. We Amer- 
icans, indeed, may compete with them in mere locomotion, 
for our familiarity with magnificent distances at home 

10 makes us still more indifferent to them abroad ; but this 
locomotion is generally in the way of business, and the 
result is rarely shown in a book, unless, indeed, it be the 
ledger. 

Yet John Bull is, on many accounts, less fitted than 

15 most of his neighbors for the duties of a traveller. How- 
ever warm and hospitable in his oAvn home, he has a cold 
reserve in his exterior, a certain chilling atmosphere, which 
he carries along with him, that freezes up the sympathies 
of strangers, and which is only to be completely thawed 

20 by long and intimate acquaintance. But the traveller has 
no time for intimate acquaintances. He must go forward, 
and trust to his first impressions, for they will also be his 
last. 

Unluckily, it rarely falls out that the first impressions 

25 of honest John are very favorable. There is too much 
pride, not to say hauteur, in his composition, which, with 
the best intentions in the world, will show itself in a way 
not particularly flattering to those who come in contact 
with him. He goes through a strange nation, treading on 

30 all their little irritable prejudices, shocking their self-love 
and harmless vanities — in short, groins: ag-ainst the grain, 
and roughing up everything by taking it the wrong way. 
Thus he draws out the bad humors of the people among 
whom he moves, sees them in their most unamiable and 

35 by no means natural aspect — in short, looks on the wrong 
side of the tapestry. What wonder if his notions are 
somewhat awry as to what he sees ! There are, it is true, 
distinguished exceptions to all this : English travellers, 
who cover the warm heart — as warm as it is generally 

40 true and manly — under a kind and sometimes cordial 
manner ; but they are the exceptions. The Englishman 
undoubtedly appears best on his own soil, where his na- 
tional predilections and prejudices, or, at least, the intima- 
tion of them, are somewhat mitigated in deference to his 

45 guest. 



360 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxix. 

Another source of the disqualification of John Bull as 
a calm and philosophic traveller is the manner in which 
he has heen educated at home ; the soft luxuries by which 
he has been surrounded from his cradle have made luxu- 
5 ries necessaries, and, accustomed to perceive all the ma- 
chinery of life glide along as noiselessly and as swiftly as 
the foot of Time itself, he becomes morbidly sensitive to 
every temporary jar or derangement in the working of it. 
In no country, since the world was made, have all the 

10 appliances for mere physical, and, we may add, intellectu- 
al indulgence, been carried to such perfection as in this 
little island nucleus of civilization. Nowhere can a man 
get such returns for his outlay. The whole organization 
of society is arranged so as to minister to the comforts of 

15 the wealthy; and an Englishman, with the golden talis- 
man in his pocket, can bring about him genii to do his 
bidding, and transport himself over distances with a 
thought, almost as easy as if he were the possessor of 
Aladdin's magic lamp, and the fairy carpet of the Arabian 

20 Tales. 

When he journeys over his little island, his comforts 
and luxuries cling as close to him as round his own fire- 
side. He rolls over roads as smooth and well-beaten as 
those in his own park ; is swept onward by sleek and well- 

25 groomed horses, in a carriage as soft and elastic, and quite 
as showy, as his own equipage ; puts up at inns that may 
vie with his own castle in their comforts and accommoda- 
tions, and is received by crowds of obsequious servants, 
more solicitous, probably, even than his own, to win his 

30 golden smiles. In short, wherever he goes, he may be 
said to carry v/ith him his castle, park, equipage, estab- 
lishment. The whole are in movement together. He 
changes place, indeed, but changes nothing else. For 
travelling, as it occurs in other lands — hard roads, harder 

35 beds, and hardest fare — he knows no more of it than if 
he had been passing from one wing of his castle to the 
other. 

All this, it must be admitted, is rather an indifferent 
preparation for a tour on the continent. Of what avail 

40 is it that Paris is the most elegant capital, France the 
most enlightened country, on the European terra Jlrma, 
if one cannot walk in the streets without the risk of being 
run over for want of a trottoir, nor move on the roads 
without being half smothered in a lumbering vehicle, 



EX. LXXXlX.j RHETORJCAL KEAUI^'G. 361 

dragged by ropes, at the rate of five miles an hour ? Of 
what account are the fine music and paintings, the archi- 
tecture and art, of Italy, when one must shiver by day for 
want of carpets and sea-coal fires, and be thrown into a 
5 fever at night by the active vexations of a still more tor- 
menting kind ? The galled equestrian might as well be 
expected to feel nothing but raptures and ravishment at 
the fine scenery through which he is riding. It is prob- 
able he will think much more of his own petty hurts than 

10 of the beauties of nature. A travelling John Bull, if his 
skin is not off, is at least so thin-skinned that it is next 
door to being so. 

If the European neighborhood affords so many means 
of annoyance to the British traveller, they are incalculably 

15 multiplied on this side of the water, and that, too, under 
circumstances which dispose him still less to charity in his 
criticisms and constructions. On the continent he feels he 
is among strange races, born and bred under different reli- 
gious and political institutions, and, above all, speaking 

20 different languages. He does not necessarily, therefore, 
measure them by his peculiar standard, but allows them 
one of their own. The dissimilarity is so great in all the 
main features of national polity and society, that it is hard 
to institute a comparison. 

25 Whatever be his contempt for the want of progress and 
perfection in the science of living, he comes to regard 
them as a distinct race, amenable to different laws, and 
therefore licensed to indulge in different usages, to a cer- 
tain extent, from his own. If a man travels in China, he 

30 makes up his mind to chop-sticks. If he should go to the 
moon, he would not be scandalized by seeing people walk 
with their heads under their arms. He has embarked on 
a different planet. It is only in things which run parallel 
to those in his own country that a comparison can be insti- 

35 tuted, and charity too often fails where criticism begins. 
Unhappily, in America, the Englishman finds these 
points of comparison forced on him at every step. He 
lands among a people speaking the same language, pro- 
fessing the same religion, drinking at the same fountains 

40 of literature, trained in the same occupations of active life. 
The towns are built on much the same model with those 
in his own land. The brick houses, the streets, the " side- 
walks," the in-door arrangements, all, in short, are near 
enough on the same pattern to provoke a comparison. Alas 
31 



362 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxix. 

for the comparison ! The cities sink at once into mere 
provincial towns ; the language degenerates into a pio- 
Ymcml patois ; the manners, the fashions, down to the cut 
of the clothes, and the equipages, all are provincial. The 

5 people, the whole nation — as independent as any, cer- 
tamly, if not, as our orators fondly descant, the best and 
most enlightened upon earth — dwindle into a mere British 
colony. 

The traveller does not seem to understand that he is 

10 treading the soil of the new world, where everything is 
new, where antiquity dates but from yesterday, where the 
present and the future are all and the past nothing, where 
hope is the watchword and " Go ahead ! " the principle 
of action. He does not comprehend that when he sets 

15 foot on such a land he is wo longer to look for old hered- 
itary landmarks, old time-honored monuments and institu- 
tions, old families that have vegetated on the same soil 
since the Conquest. He must be content to part with the 
order, and something of the decorum, incident to an old 

20 community, where the ranks are all precisely and punctil- 
iously defined, where the power is deposited by prescrip- 
tive right in certain privileged hands, and where the great 
mass have the careful obsequiousness of dependents, look- 
ing for the crumbs that fall. 

25 He is now among a new people, where everything is in 
movement, all struggling to get forward, and where, though 
many go adrift in their wild spirit of adventure, and a 
temporary check may be sometimes felt by all, the great 
mass still advances. He is landed on a hemisphere where 

30 fortunes are to be made, and men are employed in getting, 
not in spending — a difference which explains so many of 
the discrepancies between the structure of our own society 
and habits and those of the old world. To know how to 
spend is itself a science ; and the science of spending and 

35 that of getting are rarely held by the same hand. 

In such a state of things, the whole arrangement of soci- 
ety, notwithstanding the apparent resemblance to that in 
his own country, and its real resemblance in minor points, 
is reversed. The rich proprietor, who does nothing but 

40 fatten on his rents, is no longer at the head of the scale, as 

in the old world. The man of enterprise takes the lead 

in a bustling community, where action and progress, or at 

least change, are the very conditions of existence. The 

. upper classes — if the term can be used in a complete 



EX. LXXXIX.J RHETORICAL READING. 363 

democracy — have not the luxurious finish and accommo- 
dations to be found in the other hemisphere. The hum- 
bler classes have not the poverty-stricken, cringing spirit 
of hopeless inferiority. The pillar of society, if it want 
5 the Corinthian capital, wants also the heavy and superflu- 
ous base. Every man not only professes to be, but is 
practically, on a footing of equality with his neighbor. The 
traveller must not expect to meet here the deference, or 
even the courtesies, which grow out of distinction of castes. 

]0 This is an awkward dilemma for one whose nerves 
have never been jarred by contact with the profane ; who 
has never been tossed about in the rough and tumble of 
humanity. It is little to him that the poorest child in the 
community learns how to read and write ; that the poorest 

15 man can have — what Henry the Fourth so good-naturedly 
wished for the humblest of his subjects — a fowl in his 
pot every day for his dinner ; that no one is so low but 
that he may aspire to all the rights of his fellow-men, and 
find an open theatre on which to display his own peculiar 

20 talents. 

As the tourist strikes into the interior, difficulties of all 
sorts multiply, incident to a raw and unformed country. 
The comparison with the high civilization at home becomes 
more and more unfavorable, as he is made to feel that in 

25 this land of promise it must be long before promise can 
become the performance of the old world. And yet, if he 
would look beyond the surface, he would see that much 
here too has been performed, however much may be 
v/anting. He would see lands over which the wild Indian 

SO roamed as a hunting-ground teeming with harvests for the 
consumption of millions at home and abroad; forests, 
which have shot up, ripened and decayed, on the same 
spot ever since the creation, now swept away to make 
room for towns and villages, thronged with an industrious 

35 population; rivers, which rolled on in their solitudes, 
undisturbed except by the wandering bark of the savage, 
now broken and dimpled by hundreds of steamboats, 
freighted with the rich tribute of a country rescued from 
the wilderness. 

40 He would not expect to meet the careful courtesies of 
polished society in the pioneers of civilization, whose mis- 
sion has been to recover the great continent from the bear 
and the buffalo. He would have some charity for theii 
ignorance of the latest fashions of Bond-street, and their 



864 Parker's exercises in [ex. lxxxix. 

departure, sometimes, even from what, in the old country, is 
considered as the decorum, and, it may be, decencies of 
life. But not so ; his heart turns back to his own land, 
and closes against the rude scenes around him ; for he 
5 finds here none of the soft graces of cultivation, or the hal- 
lowed memorials of an early civilization ; no gray, weather- 
beaten cathedrals, telling of the Normans ; no Gothic 
churches in their groves of venerable oaks ; no moss-cov- 
ered cemeteries, in which the dust of his fathers has been 

10 gathered since the >time of the Plantagenets ; no rural 
cottages, half smothered with roses and honeysuckles, inti- 
mating that even in the most humble abodes the taste for 
the beautiful has found its way ; no trim gardens, and 
fields blossoming with hawthorn hedges and miniature 

15 culture ; no ring fences, enclosing well-shaven lawns, 
woods so disposed as to form a picture of themselves, 
bright threads of silvery water, and sparkling fountains. 

All these are wanting, and his eyes turn with disgust 
from the wild and rugged features of nature, and all her 

20 rough accompaniments — from man almost as wild; and 
his heart sickens as he thinks of his own land, and all its 
scenes of beauty. He thinks not of the poor, who leave 
that land for want of bread, and find in this a kindly 
welcome, and the means of independence and advancement 

25 which their own denies them. 

He goes on, if he be a splenetic Sinbad, discharging his 
sour bile on everybody that he comes in contact with, thus 
producing an amiable ripple in the current as he proceeds, 
that adds marvellously, no doubt, to his own quiet and 

30 personal comfort. If he have a true merry vein and 

hearty good nature, he gets on, laughing sometimes in his 

sleeve at others, and cracking his jokes on the unlucky 

■ pate of Brother Jonathan, who, if he is not very silly — 

which he very often, is — laughs too, and joins in the jest, 

35 though it may be somewhat at his own expense. 

It matters little whether the tourist be Whig or Tory in 
his own land ; if the latter, he returns, probably, ten times 
the conservative that he was when he left it. If Whig, or 
even Radical, it matters not ; his loyalty waxes warmer 

40 and warmer with every step of his progress among the 
republicans ; and he finds that practical democracy, shoul- 
dering and elbowing its neighbors as it "goes ahead," 
is no more like the democracy which he has been accus- 
tomed to admire in theory, than the real machinery, with 

45 its smell, smoke, and clatter, under full operation, is like 



EX. XC.J RHETORICAL READLXG. 365 

the pretty toy which he sees as a model in the Patent 
Office at Washington. — W. H. Prescott. 



EXERCISE XC. 

Speak Gently. 

Speak gently ! it is better far 
To rule by love than fear ; 
5 Speak gently ! let not harsh words mar 

The good we might do here. 

Speak gently ! Love doth whisper low 
The vows that true hearts bind, 
And gently Friendship's accents flow, 
10 Affection's voice is kind. 

Speak gently to the little child, — 
Its love be sure to gain, — 
Teach it in accents soft and mild, — 
It may not long remain. 
15 Speak gently to the aged one, 

Grieve not the care-worn heart ; 
The sands of life are nearly run — 
Let such in peace depart. 

Speak gently to the young, for they 
20 Will have enough to bear ; 

Pass through this life as best they may, 
'T is full of anxious care. 

Speak gently, kindly, to the poor, 
Let no harsh tones be heard ; 
25 They have enough they must endure 

Without an unkind word. 

Speak gently to the erring ; know 
They may have toiled in vain ; 
Perchance unkindness made them so, — 
30 Oh ! win them back again ; — 

Speak gently ! He who gave his life 
To bend man's stubborn will. 
When elements were in fierce strife 
Said to them, " Peace, be still ! " 
35 Speak -gently ! 't is a little thing 

Dropped in the heart's deep well, 
The good, the joy, which it may bring. 
Eternity shall tell. 
81* 



366 Parker's exercises in [ex. xci. 

EXERCISE XCI. 

Extract of a Speech in the Senate of the United States, dis- 
avowing a National Hostility to Great Britain. 

Mr. President, we must distinguish a little. That 
there exists in this country an intense sentiment of nation- 
ality ; a cherished energetic feeling and consciousness of 
our independent and separate national existence ; a feeling 
5 that we have a transcendent destiny to fulfil, which we 
mean to fulfil ; a great work to do, which we know how 
to do, and are able to do ; a career to run, up which we 
hope to ascend, till we stand on the steadfast and glittering 
summits of the world ; a feeling, that we are surrounded 

10 and attended by a noble historical group of competitors 
and rivals, the other nations of the earth, all of whom we 
hope to overtake, and even to distance ; — such a senti- 
ment as this exists, perhaps, in the character of this 
people. 

15 And this I do not discourage ; I do not condemn. It is 
easy to ridicule it. But, "grand, swelling sentiments" 
of patriotism, no wise man will despise. They have their 
uses. They help to give a great heart to a nation ; to 
animate it for the various conflicts of its lot; to assist it 

20 to work out for itself a more exceeding weight, and to fill 
a larger measure of glory. But, sir, that among these 
useful and beautiful sentiments, predominant among them, 
there exists a temper of hostility towards this one particu- 
lar nation, to such a degree as to amount to a habit, a 

25 trait, a national passion — to amount to a state of feeling 
which " is to be regretted," and which really threatens 
another war — this I earnestly and confidently deny. I 
would not hear your enemy say this. 

Sir, the indulgence of such a sentiment by the people 

30 supposes them to have forgotten one of the counsels of 
Washington. Call to mind the ever seasonable wisdom 
of the Farewell Address : " The nation which indulges 
towards another an habitual hatred, or an habitual fond- 
ness, is, in some degree, a slave. It is a slave to its ani- 

35 mosity, or to its affection, either of which is sufficient to 
lead it astray from its duty and its interest." 

No, sir! no, sir! We are above all this. Let the 
Highland clansman, half naked, half civilized, half blinded 
by the peat-smoke of his cavern, have his hereditary enemy 

40 and his hereditary enmity, and keep the keen, deep, and 



EX. xcl] rhetorical readun^g. 367 

precious hatred, set on fire of liell, alive if he can ; let the 
North American Indian have his, and hand it down from 
father to son, by Heaven knows what symbols of alligators, 
and rattle-snakes, and war-clubs, smeared with vermilion 
5 and entwined with scarlet ; let such a country as Poland, 
— cloven to the earth, the armed heel on the radiant fore- 
head, her body dead, her soul incapable to die, — let her 
remember the "wrongs of days long past;" let the lost 
and wandering tribes of Israel remember theirs — the man- 

10 liness and the sympathy of the world may allow or pardon 
this to them ; — but shall America, young, free, prosperous, 
just setting out on the highway of heaven, "decorating 
and cheering the elevated sphere she just begins to move 
in, glittering like the morning star, full of life and joy," 

15 shall she be supposed to be polluting and corroding her 
noble and happy heart, by moping over old stories of stamp 
act, and tea tax, and the firing of the Leopard upon the 
Chesapeake in a time of peace ? 

No, sir ! no, sir I a thousand times no ! Why, I pro- 

20 test I thought all that had been settled. I thought two 
wars had settled it all. What else was so much good 
blood shed for, on so many more than classical fields of 
revolutionary glory ? For what was so much good blood 
more lately shed, at Lundy's Lane, at Fort Erie, before 

25 and behind the lines at New Orleans, on the deck of the 
Constitution, on the deck of the Java, on the lakes, on 
the sea, but to settle exactly these "wrongs of past 
days ? " 

And have we come back sulky and sullen from the 

30 very field of honor? For my country, I deny it. The 
senator"^ says that our people still remember these " former 
scenes of wrong, wnth, perhaps, too deep" a sensibility; 
and that, as I interpret him, they nourish a " too exten- 
siA^e" national enmity. How so? If the feeling he 

35 attributes to them is moral, manly, creditable, how comes 
it to be too deep? and if it is immoral, unmanly, and 
unworthy, why is it charged on them at all ? 

Is there a member of this body, who would stand up in 
any educated, in any intelligent and right-minded circle 

40 which he respected, and avow that, for his part, he mu.<t 
acknowledge, that, looking back through the glories and 
the atonement of two wars, his views were full of ilt blood 
to England ; that in peace he could not help being her 

* Mr. Buchanan, of Pennsylvania. 



368 Parker's exercises in [ex. xcii. 

enemy; that he could not pluck out the deep-wrought 
convictions and " the immortal hate " of the old times ? 
Certainly, not one. And then, sir, that which we feel 
would do no honor for ourselves shall we confess for our 
5 country ? 

Mr. President, let me say, that in my judgment this 
notion of a national enmity of feeling towards Great Brit- 
ain, belongs to a past age of our history. My younger 
countrymen are unconscious of it. They disavow it. 

10 That generation, in whose opinions and feelings the 
actions and the destiny of the next are unfolded, as the 
tree in the germ, do not at all comprehend your meaning, 
nor your fears, nor your regrets. 

We are horn to happier feelings. We look to England 

15 as we look to France. We look to them, from our new 
world, — not unrenowned, yet a new world still, — and 
the blood mounts to our cheeks; our eyes swim; our 
voices are stifled with emulousness of so much glory ; their 
trophies will not let us sleep : but there is no hatred at all ; 

20 no hatred — no barbarian memory of wrongs, for which 
brave men have made the last expiation to the brave. 

Hon, Rufus Choate. 



EXERCISE XCII. 
The Bird let loose in Eastern Skies. 

The bird, let loose in eastern skies,^ 

When hastening fondly home. 

Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies 
25 Where idle warblers roam. 

But high she shoots through air and light, 

Above all low delay. 

Where nothing earthly bounds her flight, 

Nor shadow dims her way. 
30 So grant me, God, from every care 

And stain of passion free, 

Aloft, through virtue's purer air, 

To hold my course to thee ! 

No sin to cloud — no lure to stay 
35 My soul, as home she springs : — 

Thy sunshine on her joyful way, 

Thy freedom in her wings ! T. Moore. 

* The carrier pigeon, it is well known, flies at an elevated pitch, in ordei 
to surmount every obstacle between her and the place to which she is destined. 



EX. xciil] rhetorical reading. oG9 

EXERCISE XCIIL 

The Prodigal Son. 
From The Gospel According to St. Luke, Chapter XV. 

Then drew near unto him all the publicans and sinners 
for to hear him. And the Pharisees and scribes mur- 
mured, saying, This man receiveth sinners, and eateth 
with them. 
5 And he spake this parable unto them, saying, What 
man of you having a hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, 
doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness, and 
go after that which he has lost, until he find it ? And 
when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, 

10 rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth to- 
gether his friends and neighbors, saying unto them. Re- 
joice with me ; for I have found my sheep which was lost. 
I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over 
one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine 

15 just persons which need no repentance. 

Either what woman having ten pieces of silver, if she 
lose one piece, doth not light a candle, and sweep the 
house, and seek diligently till she find it ? And when she 
hath found it, she calleth her friends and her neighbors 

20 together, saying, Rejoice with me ; for I have found the 
piece which I had lost. Likewise, I say unto you, There 
is joy in the presence of the angels of God over one sinner 
that repenteth. 

And he said, A certain man had two sons : and the 

25 younger of them said to his father. Father, give me the 
portion of goods that falleth to me. And he divided unto 
them his living. And not many days after, the younger 
son gathered all together, and took his journey into a far 
country, and there wasted his substance with riotous living. 

30 And when he had spent all, there arose a mighty famine 
in that land ; and he began to be in want. 

And he went and joined himself to a citizen of that 
country ; and he sent him into his fields to feed swine. 
And he would fain have filled his belly with the husks 

35 that the swine did eat ; and no man gave unto him. 

And when he came to himself, he said, How many hired 
servants of my father's have bread enough and to spare, 
and I perish with hunger ! I will arise and go to my 
father, and will say unto him. Father, I have sinned 

40 against heaven and before thee, and am no more worthy 



370 Parker's exercises in [ex. xciv. 

to be called thy son : make me as one of thy hired ser- 
vants. 

And he arose, and came to his father. But when he 
was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had com- 
5 passion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him. 
And the son said unto him. Father, I have sinned against 
heaven and in thy sight, and am no more worthy to be 
called thy son. 

But the father said to his servants. Bring forth the best 

10 robe, and put it on him ; and put a ring on his hand, and 
shoes on his feet : and bring hither the fatted calf, and kill 
it ; and let us eat, and be merry : for this my son was dead, 
and is alive again ; he was lost, and is found. And they 
began to be merry. 

15 Now his elder son was in the field : and as he came and 
drew nigh to the house, he heard music and dancing. And 
he called one of the servants and asked what these things 
meant. And he said unto him. Thy brother is come ; and 
thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath re- 

20 ceived him safe and sound. 

And he was angry, and would not go in ; therefore came 
his father out, and entreated him. And he answering, 
said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, 
neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment ; and 

25 yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry 
with my friends : but as soon as this thy son was come, 
which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast 
killed for him the fatted calf. 

And he said unto him. Son, thou art ever with me ; and 

30 all that I have is thine. It was meet that we should make 
merry, and be glad : for this thy brother was dead, and is 
alive again ; and was lost, and is found. 



EXERCISE XCIV. 

Go where Glory waits Thee. 

Go where glory waits thee, 
But while fame elates thee, 
35 Oh, still remember me. 

When the praise thou meetest 
To thine ear is sweetest, 
Oh, then remember me. 



EX. XCV.] RHETORICAL READING. 371 

Other arms may press thee, 

Dearer friends caress thee, — 

All the joys that bless thee 

Sweeter far may he ; 
5 But when friends are nearest. 

And when joys are dearest, 

Oh, then remember me. 
When at eve thou rovest, 

By the star thou lovest, 
10 Oh, then remember me. 

Think, when home returning. 

Bright we 've seen it burning ; 

Oh, thus remember me. 

Oft as summer closes, 

15 When thine eye reposes 

On its lingering roses. 

Once so loved by thee. 

Think of her who wove them, 

Her who made thee love them ; 
20 Oh, then remember me. 

When around thee, dying, 

Autumn leaves are lying, 

Oh, then remember me. 

And, at night, when gazing 
25 On the gay hearth blazing, 

Oh, still remember me. 

Then, should music, stealing 

All the soul of feeling. 

To thy heart appealing, 
30 Draw one tear from thee ; 

Then let memory bring thee 

Strains I used to sing thee ; — 

Oh, then remember me. T. Moore. 



EXERCISE XCV. 

Ha77defs Advice to the Players. 

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you ; 

85 trippingly, on the tongue. But if you mouth it, as many 

of the players do, I had as lief the town-crier had spoke 

my lines. And do not saw the air too much with your 

hand ; but use all gently : for in the very torrent, tempest, 



372 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [eX. XCVL 

and, as I may say, whirlwind of your passion, you must 
acquire and beget a temperance that may give it smooth- 
ness. Oh ! it offends me to the soul, to hear a robusteous, 
periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, 

5 to split the ears of the groundlings ; who, for the most part, 
are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows and 
noise. Pray, you avoid it. 

Be not too tame neither : but let your own discretion be 
your tutor. Suit the action to the word, the word to the 

10 action ; with this special observance, that you o'erstep not 
the modesty of nature : for anything so overdone is from 
the purpose of playing, whose end is — to hold, as it were, 
the mirror up to nature ; to show virtue her own feature, 
scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the 

15 time his form and pressure. 

Now, this overdone, or come tardy of, though it makes 
the unskilful laugh, cannot but make the judicious grieve; 
the censure of one of which must, in your allowance, o'er- 
weigh a whole theatre • of others. Oh ! there be players 

20 that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that 
highly, that, neither having the accent of Christian, nor 
the gait of Christian, pagan nor man, have so strutted and 
bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journey- 
men had made men, and not made them well ; they imi- 

25 tated humanity so abominably. — Sha.kspeare. 



EXERCISE XCVL 
Milton's Lamentation for the Loss of his Sight. 

Hail, holy light ! offspring of heaven first-born ! 

Or, of the eternal, coeternal beam ! 

May I express thee unblamed ? Since God is light, 

And never but in unapproached light 
30 Dwelt from eternity, dwelt then in thee, 

Bright effluence of bright essence increate. 

Or, hear'st thou, rather, pure ethereal stream, 

Whose fountain who shall tell ? 

Before the sun, 
35 Before the heavens, thou wert, and at the voice 

Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest 

The rising world of waters dark and deep, 

Won from the void and formless infinite. 



EX. XCVI.] RHETOllICAL READING. -'73 

Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 
Escaped the Stygian pool, though long detained 
In that obscure sojourn ; while in my flight, 
Through utter and through middle darkness borne, 
5 With other notes than to the Orphean lyre, 
I sung of Chaos and eternal Night ; 
Taught by the heavenly Muse to venture down 
The dark descent, and up to re ascend, 
Though hard and rare. 

10 Thee I revisit safe, 

And feel thy sovereign vital lamp ; but thou 
Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 
To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; 
So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs, 

15 Or dim suffusion veiled. 

Yet not the more 
Cease I to wander where the muses haunt. 
Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 
Srait with the love of sacred song ; but chief 

20 Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 

That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow, 
Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 
Those other two, equalled with me in fate. 
So were I equalled with them in renown ! 

25 Blind Thamaris, and blind Mseonides ; 

And Tyresias, and Phyneus, prophets old: — 
Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move 
Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird 
Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid, 

30 Tunes her nocturnal note. 

Thus with the year 
Seasons return ; but not to me returns 
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn. 
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 

35 Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine : 
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark, 
Surrounds me : from the cheerful wa.ys of men 
Cut off, and, for the book of knowledge fair. 
Presented with an universal blank 

40 Of nature's works, to me expunged and razed, 
And wisdom, at one entrance, quite shut out. 

So much the rather, thou, celestial light. 
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
Irradiate ; there plant eyes ; all mist from thence 
32 



374 Parker's exercises in [ex.. xcvii 

Purge and disperse ; that I may see and tell 

Of things invisible to mortal sight. Milton, 



EXERCISE XCVII. 

Intellectual Improvement. 

The great mass of mankind consider the intellectual 
powers as susceptible of a certain degree of development 
5 in childhood, to prepare the individual for the active duties 
of life. This degree of progress they suppose to be made 
before the age of twenty is attained, and hence they talk 
of an education being finished ! 

Now, if a parent wishes to convey the idea that his 

10 daughter has closed her studies at school, or that his son 
has finished his preparatory professional course, and is 
ready to commence practice, there is perhaps no strong 
objection to his using of the common phrase, that the 
education is finished ; but in any general or proper use of 

15 language, there is no such thing as a finished education. 
The most successful student that ever left a school, or took 
his degree at college, never arrived at a good place to stop, 
in his intellectual course. 

In fact, the further he goes the more desirous will he feel 

20 to go on ; and if you wish to find an instance of the great- 
est eagerness and interest with which the pursuit of knowl- 
edge is prosecuted, you will find it undoubtedly in the case 
of the most accomplished and thorough scholar that the 
country can furnish, one who has spent a long life in study, 

25 and who finds that the further he goes the more and more 
widely does the boundless field of intelligence open before 
him. 

Give up, then, at once, all idea of finishing your educa- 
tion. The sole object of the course of discipline at any 

80 literary institution, in our land, is not to finish, but just to 
show you how to begin ; to give you an impulse and a 
direction upon that course which you ought to pursue with 
unabated and uninterrupted ardor as long as you have 
being. 

35 It is unquestionably true, that every person, whatever 
are his circumstances or condition in life, ought at all times 
to be making some steady eflbrts to enlarge his stock of 
knowledge, to increase his mental powers, and thus to ex- 



EX. XCVII.] RHETORICAL READING. 375 

pand the field of his intellectual vision. I suppose most 
of my readers are convinced of this, and are desirous, if 
the way can only be distinctly pointed out, of making such 
efforts. 
5 In fact, no inquiry is more frequently made by intelligent 
young persons than this : — " What course of reading shall 
I pursue ? What books shall I select, and what plan in 
reading them shall I adopt ? " These inquiries I now pro- 
pose to answer. The objects of study are of several kinds ; 

10 some of the most important I shall enumerate. 

To increase our intellectual powers. — Every one knows 
that there is a difference of ability in different minds, but 
it is not so distinctly understood that every one's abilities 
may be increased or strengthened by a kind of culture 

15 adapted expressly to this purpose ; — I mean a culture 
which is intended not to add to the stock of knowledge, 
but only to increase intellectual power. 

Suppose, for example, that when Robinson Crusoe on 
his desolate island had first found Friday the savage, he 

20 had said to himself as follows: — "This man looks wild 
and barbarous enough ; he is to stay with me and help me 
in my various plans ; but he could help me much more 
effectually if he were more of an intellectual being and 
less of a mere animal. Now I can increase his intellectual 

25 power by culture, and 1 will. But what shall I teach him ? " 
On reflecting a little further upon the subject, he would 
say to himself as follows : — "I must not always teach him 
things necessary for him to know in order to assist me in 
my work, but I must try to teach him to think for himself. 

30 Then he will be far more valuable as a servant than if he 
has to depend upon me for everything he does." 

Accordingly, some evening when the two, master and 

man, have finished the labors of the day, Robinson is 

- walking upon the sandy beach, with the wild savage by 

35 his side, and he concludes to give him his first lesson in 
mathematics. He picks up a slender and pointed shell, 
and with it draws carefully a circle upon the sand. 
"What is that ? " says Friday. " It is what we call a cir- 
cle," says Robinson. " I want you now to come and stand 

40 here, and attentively consider what I am going to tell you 
about it." 

Now Friday has, we will suppose, never given his seri- 
ous attention to anything, or rather he has never made a 
serious mental effort upon any subject for five minutes at 



376 Parker's exercises in ]^ex. xcvii. 

a tii.»e in his life. The simplest mathematical principle is 
a complete labyrinth of perplexity to him. He comes up 
and looks at the smooth and beautiful curve which his 
master has drawn in the sand with a gaze of stupid amaze- 
5 ment. 

" Now listen carefully to what I say," says Robinson, 
" and see if you can understand it. Do you see this little 
point I make in the middle of the circle ? " Friday says 
he does, and wonders what is to come from the magic 

10 character which he sees before him. " This," continues 
Robinson, " is a circle, and that point is the centre. Now, 
if I draw lines from the centre in any direction to the out- 
side, these lines will all be equal." 

So saying, he draws several lines. He sets Friday to 

15 measuring them. Friday sees that they are equal, and is 
pleased from two distinct causes ; one, that he has success- 
fully exercised his thinking powers, and the other, that he 
has learned something which he never knew before. 

I wish now that the reader would understand that Rob- 

20 inson does not take this course with Friday because he 
wishes him to understand the nature of the circle. Sup- 
pose we were to say to him, " Why did you choose such a 
lesson as that for your savage ? You can teach him 
much more useful things than the properties of the circle, 

25 What good will it do him to know how to make circles ? 
Do you expect him to draw geometrical diagrams for you, 
or to calculate and project eclipses ? " 

"No," Robinson would reply; "I do not care to make 
Friday understand the properties of the circle. But I 

30 would have him to be a thinking being; and if I can induce 
him to think half an hour steadily and carefully, it is of no 
consequence upon what subject his thoughts are employed. 
I chose the circle because that seemed easy and distinct — 
suitable for the first lesson. I do not know that he will 

35 ever have occasion to make use of the fact, that the radii 
of a circle are equal, as long as he shall live — but he will 
have occasion for the power of patient attention and thought, 
which he acquired while attempting to understand that 
subject." 

40 This would unquestionably be sound philosophy, and a 
savage who should study such a lesson on the beach of his 
own wild island would forever after be less of a savage 
than before. The effect upon his mental powers of one 
single effort like that would last; and a series of such 



EX. XCVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 377 

efforts would transform him from a fierce and ungovernable, 
but stupid animal, to a cultivated and intellectual man. 

Thus it is with all education. One great object is to 
increase the powers, and this is entirely distinct from the 
5 acquisition of knowledge. Scholars very often ask, when 
pursuing some difficult study, " What good will it do me 
to know this ? " But that is not the question. They ought 
to ask, " What good will it do me to learn it ? What effect 
upon my habits of thinking, and upon my intellectual powers, 

10 will be produced by the efforts to examine and to conquer 
these difficulties ? " 

A very fine example of this is the study of conic sections, 
a difficult branch of the course of mathematics pursued in 
college ; a study which, from its difficulty and its apparent 

15 uselessness, is often very unpopular in the class pursuing 
it. The question is veiy often asked, " What good will it 
ever do us in after-life to understand all these mysteries of 
the parabola, and the hyperbola, and the ordinates, and 
abscissas, and asymtotes ? " 

20 The answer is, that the knowledge of the facts which 
you acquire will probably do you no good whatever. That 
is not the object, and every college officer knows full well 
that the mathematical principles which this science demon- 
strates are not brought into use in after-life by one scholar 

25 in ten. But every college officer, and every intelligent 
student who will watch the operations of his own mind 
and the influences which such exercises exert upon it, 
knows equally well that the study of the higher mathe- 
matics produces an effect in enlarging and disciplining the 

30 intellectual powers, which the whole of life will not oblit- 
erate. 

Do not shrink, then, from difficult work in your efforts at 
intellectual improvement. You ought, if you wish to se- 
cure the greatest advantage, to have some difficult work, 

35 that you may acquire habits of patient research, and in- 
crease and strengthen your intellectual powers. — /. Abbott. 



EXERCISE XCVIII. 

The World compared to a Stage. 

All the world 's a stage ; 
And all the men and women merely players. 
32=^ 



378 Parker's exercises in [ex. xclx* 

They have their exits and their entrances ; 

And one man, in his time, plays many parts, 

His acts being seven ages. 

At first, the infant; 
5 Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms. 

And then the whining school-boy ; with his satchel 

And shining morning face, creeping like snail, 

Unwillingly, to school. And then, the lover; 

Sighing like furnace, with a woful ballad 
10 Made to his mistress' eye-brow. Then, a soldier; 

Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard ; 

Jealous in honor; sudden and quick in quarrel; 

Seeking the bubble reputation 

Even in the cannon's mouth. 
15 And then, the justice; 

With fair round belly, with good capon lined ; 

With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut ; 

Full of wise saws and modern instances ; 

And so he plays his part. 
20 The sixth age shifts 

Into the lean and slippered pantaloon ; 

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side ; 

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide 

For his shrunk shank ; and his big manly voice, 
25 Turning again towards childish treble, pipes 

And whistles in his sound. 

Last scene of all, 

That ends this strange, eventful history. 

Is second childishness and mere oblivion ; 
30 Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. 

Shakspeare. 



EXERCISE XCIX. 

Woman. 

The first and necessary relation of woman is that of 
daughter. From this relation numerous duties arise, for 
the performance of which every woman should be edu- 
cated. A daughter is the natural companion, friend and 
35 stay, of her parents. A man leaves his father and mother, 
and marries into the family of his wife. But fn our own 
and other free countries, a woman, whether single or mar- 
ried, more frequently remains with her earliest aflfections, 
in or near the mansion of her parents. 



EX. XCIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 379 

It is to her that they naturally look for the tender affec- 
tions which will soothe them in their declining years. It 
is for her to temper the rough winds of adversity, and ren- 
der brighter the sunshine of prosperity. She is their com- 
5 forter, physician, and nurse. When their voice has become 
tremulous, and their eye dim with age, and the stores of 
memory have been closed, it is for her to bring forth the 
pleasures of consolation, to make the sound of gladness 
still be heard in their dwelling, and to fill it with a cheer- 

10 ful, and — if she have been rightly educated — a holy 
light. 

I need not speak particularly of the relation of the sister : 
not that I undervalue the importance of her duties ; but 
because I believe that the woman who is well educated for 

15 the more important ones of daughter and wife cannot fail 
to be a faithful sister and friend. We have merely time to 
glance at the numerous duties of the mistress of a family. 
Enter the humblest dwelling under the prudent manage- 
ment of a discreet and well-educated female, and observe 

20 the simplicity and good taste which pervade it. The wise 
mistress has nothing gaudy in her dress or furniture ; for 
she is above the silly ambition of surpassing her neighbors 
in show. Her own best ornaments are cheerfulness and 
contentment ; and those of her' house are neatness, good 

25 order and cleanliness, which make a plain house and mod- 
est apartments seem better than they are. 

She has not the selfish vanity which would make her 
strive to appear above her circumstances. She knows 
what are, and what ought to be, the expenses of her fam- 

30 ily ; and she is not ashamed of her economy. It gives her 
the means of being liberal in her charity ; and hers is a 
charity which reaches round the earth, and embraces the 
poor and unfortunate everywhere. 

Her domestics, if she have any, look to her for advice 

35 in doubt, and counsel in difficulties ; they respect her judg- 
ment, for she has shown herself wise and disinterested ; 
they see that she cares for them, and they have felt her 
sympathy in their sorrows : in return, they make her inter- 
est their own, anticipate her wishes, and show the willing- 

40 ness of their service by their cheerful alacrity. 

She knows the virtue of pure air, and the excellence of 
scrupulous cleanliness ; she can judge of the qualities of 
wholesome food, and knows how easily it may be poisoned 
by careless or unskilful cooking. Her knowledge and care 



380 Parker's exercises in [ex. c. 

shine in the happy and healthful faces of her children. No 
harsh sounds are heard in her dwelling ; for her gentleness 
communicates itself to all around her. 

Her husband hastens home ; and whatever may have 
5 been his fortune abroad, enters his house with a cheerful 
step. He has experienced the pleasure of seeing kind 
faces brightening at his approach ; and, contented with 
what he finds at home, has no inducement to seek for 
happiness abroad. Nor is she satisfied with consulting 
10 the present gratification of those around her. By her ex- 
ample and gentle influence, she leads them onward to what 
is better and more enduring hereafter. Few know the 
noiseless and real happiness which such a woman sheds 
around her, as if she were the sun of a little world. 

George B. ETnerson. 



EXERCISE C. 
" Passing Aivay." 

15 Was it the chime of a tiny bell, 

That came so sweet to my dreaming ear, — 
Like the silvery tones of a fairy's shell, 
That he winds on the beach so mellow and clear. 
When the winds and the waves lie together asleep, 

20 And the moon and the fairy are watching the deep, 
She dispensing her silvery light. 
And he, his notes as silvery quite. 
While the boatman listens and ships his oar. 
To catch the music that comes from the shore ? — 

25 Hark ! the notes on my ear that play 

Are set to words ; — as they float they say, 
" Passing away ! passing away ! " 

But no ! it was not a fairy's shell 
Blown on the beach so merry and clear ; 

30 Nor was it the tongue of a silver bell. 
Striking the hour, that filled my ear. 
As I lay in my dream ; yet was it a chime 
That told of the flow of the stream of time. 
For a beautiful clock from the ceiling hung, 

35 And a plump little girl for a pendulum swung ; 
(As you 've sometimes seen, in a little ring 
That hangs in his cage, a canary-bird swing ;) 



EX. c] RHETORICAL READING. 381 

And she held to her bosom a budding bouquet, 
And as she enjoyed it, she seemed to say, 
" Passing away ! passing away ! " 

O, how bright were the wheels, that told 
5 Of the lapse of time, as they moved round slow ! 
And the hands, as the}^ swept o'er the dial of gold, 
Seemed to point to the girl below. 
And lo ! she had changed ; — in a few short hours 
Her bouquet had become a garland of flowers, 

10 That she held in her outstretched hands, and flung 
This way and that, as she dancing swung 
In the fulness and grace of womanly pride, 
That told me she soon was to be a bride : — 
Yet then, when expecting her happiest day, 

15 In the same sweet voice I heard her say, 
" Passing away ! passing away ! " 

While I gazed at that fair one's cheek, a shade 
Of thought, or care, stole softly over. 
Like that by a cloud in a summer day made, 

20 Looking down on a field of blossoming clover. 
The rose yet lay on her cheek, but its flush 
Had something lost of its brilliant blush ; 
And the light in her eye, and the light on the wheels, 
That marched so calmly round above her, 

25 Was a little dimmed, — as when evening steals 

Upon noon's hot face : — yet one couldn't but love her, 
For she looked like a mother, whose first babe lay. 
Rocked on her breast, as she swung all day ; — 
And she seemed, in the same silver tone, to say, 

30 " Passing away ! passing away ! " 

While yet I looked, what a change there came ! 
Her eye was quenched, and her cheek was wan : 
Stooping and staffed was her withered frame. 
Yet just as busily swung she on ; 

35 The garland beneath her had fallen to dust ; 
The wheels above her were eaten with rust ; 
The hands, that over the dial swept. 
Grew- crooked and tarnished, but on they kept, 
And still there came that silver tone 

40 From the shrivelled lips of the toothless crone, — 
(Let me never forget till my dying day 
The tone or the burden of her lay !) 
" Passing away ! passing away I " Pierpont. 



• 



382 Parker's exercises in [ex. ci. 

EXERCISE CI. 

Association of Ideas. 

It is the law or usage of the human mind long to retain 
any connexion, even of the most accidental kind, which 
has once been formed between two or more thoughts or 
states of feeling. If one of these linked or associated 
5 ideas is brought back to the mind, the other, most often, 
returns with it. No one can need instances of this sort 
to be mentioned, for every moment presents them to every 
mind. 

It is, however, important to distinguish what may be 

10 called the natural or spontaneous association of ideas, 
from that which is the consequence of certain habits of 
the mind. The law of spontaneous association shows 
itself most completely in dreaming, when ideas of all 
kinds follow one the other, in a disorderly and fantastic 

15 manner; and yet so that we can (when dreams are recol- 
lected with sufficient distinctness) often perceive the link 
or tie which made one image succeed to another. 

In musing or re very the same law of accidental con- 
nexion makes itself apparent in the succession of ideas and 

20 emotions. The prattle of children, and the idle chat of 
uncultivated or frivolous persons, very commonly present 
the same sort of fortuitous succession of ideas, connected 
only by incidental and unimportant circumstances of sim- 
ilarity or of juxtaposition, in time or place. The strength 

25 and culture of the mind may be fairly estimated by the 
degree in which it ordinarily yields itself to this current 
of spontaneous or accidental associations. 

When certain habits of mind have been formed and 
settled by exercise and application, they displace and su- 

30 persede, to a great extent, the law of accidental associa- 
tion. A mind naturally vigorous, and which has acquired 
much control over its movements, and has addicted itself 
to particular employments, no longer follows the fortuitous 
course of ideas; but pursues, in some chosen path, the 

35 real or rational connexion of ideas one with another. 
Tbat is to say, the idea which follows the one last present 
to the mind will be that which, in fact and nature, is the 
most nearly related to its predecessor. 

Thus, if the whole series of ideas were expressed or 

40 uttered, those who listened to it would not have to search 



EX. CI.] RHETORICAL READING. 383 

for the link which connected one thought with another, 
but would perceive it in the very nature of the subject. 

The mathematician, the mechanician, the statesman, 
the poet, the artist, the man of business, each acquires his 
5 proper habit of association, and each is prompt and suc- 
cessful in his line just in proportion to the rationality and 
the closeness of the connexions that have been formed in 
his mind. This principle of the association of ideas is 
sometimes, or by some writers, called the law of sugges- 
10 tion. The meaning of the two phrases is much the same. 



ATTENTION. 



~ Not even the most frivolous, childish, or feeble mind, is 
always or entirely governed by the fortuitous association 
of ideas (spoken of in the preceding article.) Nor how 
strong soever may be any particular habit of thinking, is 

15 any mind absolutely incapable of breaking off its custom- 
ary meditations, and of fixing itself upon another set of 
ideas. Every one is conscious of possessing a power 
(more or less perfect) of detaining some one thought or 
class of thoughts in the mind, and of considering or view- 

20 ing a particular subject successively, in all its parts and 
relations. This power is called attention. 

It is the proper and distinguishing excellence of the 
human mind ; and, in connexion with the faculty of ab- 
straction, forms the essential difference between man and 

25 the brute, as well intellectually as morally. The degree 
in which it is possessed distinguishes also one human 
mind from another. 

The exertion of this power of attention supposes some 
motive or desire to be present, or some inducement to be 

30 within view, which attracts the mind in one direction 
rather than another. It is a great excellence in the men- 
tal conformation, when a tranquil motive will insure a 
high degree of attention; and moreover, when attention 
can be readily and fully transferred from one object to 

35 another ; and it is a still higher excellence when attention 
can be given, in an efficient degree, to several objects at 
the same time. 

A sluggish mind is one which can be roused to atten- 
tion only by the most urgent or stimulating motives. A 

40 weak mind is one that may be quickly roused to attention, 
but which as quickly spends itself by the effort. An acute 
mind is one that is capable of a very vigorous, momentary 



384 Parker's exercises in [ex. ci. 

effort. A profound mind is one capable of long-continued 
attention upon the same subject, and which can sustain 
its attention by motives of the most tranquil sort. 

A comprehensive and efficient mind is capable both of 

5 long-continued efforts of attention, and of what may be 

called multifarious attention ; that is to say, it does not lose 

itself in its regard to a single class of ideas, but sees all 

objects in their various connexions and dependencies. 

Yet whatever may be the natural power of the mind in 

10 these respects, it is susceptible of vast increase and im- 
provement, by a well-conducted education. Indeed the 
difference between an educated and uneducated person 
(supposing their natural faculties to have been equal) is 
manifested in nothing so conspicuously as in the greater 

15 command over its powers of attention which the former 
has acquired, 

ABSTRACTION. 

[From Abstraho, to draw off, or to draw apart, or to separate and take away one 
thing from among a number.] 

Things that differ very greatly one from another are 
often found to be alike in some single quality ; and when 
this one quality is distinctly taken notice of, we readily 

20 learn to think of it apart from the other qualities with 
which it may have been joined, and thus the mind acquires 
the habit of drawing off certain properties of things, and 
of giving names to them ; this habit is called abstraction, 
and the words employed on such occasions are called ab- 

25 stract terms. 

There are, for instance, placed before us, a cricket-ball, 
a marble, a glass bubble, an apple, and an orange ; and 
we are asked if these things are alike. We answer. No : 
for the first is brown, and may be indented ; the second is 

30 heavy and impenetrable ; the third is transparent and frag- 
ile, and light ; the fourth is green and pulpy ; the fifth is 
yellow and fragrant. 

But is there, then, no respect wherein they are alike ? 
Yes; they are alike in shape, or form — they are round. 

35 Roundness, then, is the quality or circumstance in which 
these five objects agree, and which may be thought of, and 
spoken of, apart from the weight, hardness, color or smell, 
of these five things. Thus we have obtained two abstract 
ideas — namely, that of form or figure, and that of round- 

40 ness ; roundness being a particular sort of form. 

Examples of this kind are easily multiplied ; we will 



' 



EX. CI.] RHETORICAL READING. 385 

take another. Water, and glass, and spirits, and diamonds, 
admit the rays of light to pass through them ; so that ob- 
jects may be discerned almost as clearly when they inter- 
vene as when they are removed. Some other bodies 
5 possess the same quality in a less degree : such as amber, 
and the amethyst, and the ruby, &c. We want a name 
for this property, belonging as it does to things so different 
as water, glass, and stones ; and we call it transparency. 
Each of the five senses has its class of abstractions : 

10 that is to say, each sense separates single qualities from 
other qualities, discerned by itself, or by other senses. 
The eye separates redness from yellowness, or whiteness, 
&c., and brightness from dulness ; — and again, separates 
color from figure ; and it separates color and figure from 

15 the notions obtained by the other senses, such as hardness, 
or weight, or fragrancy, or fluidity. The sense of taste 
not only distinguishes sour from sweet and bitter, but sep- 
arates them from the qualities that are made known to the 
mind by the sense of touch, as heat and cold, asperity and 

20 softness, &c. 

Thus it is that likeness, or sameness of quality, in things 
otherwise unlike, leads the mind to form abstract notions, 
and to use abstract words. But having acquired this habit, 
it employs the power of separation in many other instances 

25 than those that belong to the five senses. For example : — 
If a man restores freely the property of another, which he 
could not have been compelled to relinquish ; or if he 
speaks the exact truth when it might have been advan- 
tageous to him to utter a falsehood ; or if in any way he 

80 regards the welfare of other men, when he is tempted to 
secure his own benefit, — we form a notion which we sep- 
arate from the particular circumstances that may have 
belonged to the man's conduct : we feel that there is' a 
peculiar quality that belongs to his conduct on all these 

35 several occasions, and we call it integrity ; and the so act- 
ing is justice. 

Justice is not the name of one action, or of one kind of 
an action ; but of the abstract notion which belongs to any 
action wherein a man pays strict regard to the rights and 

40 property of others. Or if, in his actions, he goes beyond 
what might have been demanded of him ; if he prefers the 
welfare of his neighbor to his own ; then we form the no- 
tion of another sort of quality, and call it generosity or 
kindness. And in any new instance, even if all the cir- 
33 



386 Parker's exercises in [ex. ci. 

cumstances are different, yet if a friend or stranger confers 
upon us a benefit which he miglit properly have withheld, 
we are reminded of the notion we had before formed, and 
call the action or the person generous. 

5 Some abstract notions are simple ; that is to say, they 
cannot be described or made known otherwise than by 
single words, or by pointing to the objects in which they 
are to be seen or felt. Such are redness, whiteness, heat, 
cold, sweetness, pleasure, pain, and many others. If the 

10 person to whom we would convey our meaning has never 
himself perceived the quality we are speaking of, we can- 
not impart to him our idea by words ; or, if he does not 
understand the word we first use, we must find some other 
of the same meaning — if he does not know what the 

15 w^ord pain means, we must try the word dolor, or some 
other; but if he have never felt pain, the most ingenious 
description of it would be utterly useless. 

But there are abstract notions that are complex, or made 
up of two or more ideas, and may therefore be described 

20 by mentioning those constituent ideas. Thus, in the in- 
stances already mentioned, justice maybe described as the 
paying a strict regard to the rights and interests of others ; 
or, the not preferring our own welfare to that of others. 
Generosity is the conferring of benefits upon others be- 

25 yond what they would claim. Form or figure is the rela- 
tion to each other of the several surfaces of a solid body. 
Distance is extension between two points, divided into 
parts, and numbered. Place is the relation between one 
point and some other points on a surface. Perfection is 

30 the existence, together, of all the parts or properties that 
are assigned to some complex body or being. 

Design is the relation of all the parts of a complex body 
to the last effect which it is intended to produce. Truth 
is the relation of sameness between things and our notions 

35 of them ; or between our notions or thoughts and our 
affirmations. Liberty is the absence of restraint upon 
choice or action. Necessity is the certain connexion be- 
tween cause and effect. In all such instances there is a 
notion conveyed by the word we employ which admits of 

40 being resolved into two or more ideas. 

Now it is peculiarly important to understand the differ- 
ence between simple and complex abstract notions; because, 
on the one hand, much time is often wasted in the vain 
attempt to describe or analyze what is simple ; and, on the 



'.X. CI.] RHETORICAL READING. 387 

other hand, much confusion often arises from neglecting to 
analyze notions that are complex : hence it is that so many 
words are used in argument to which the disputants attach 
different ideas, and therefore are never ahle to come to an 
5 agreement, even when they are really of the same opinion. 
It is a good exercise to define or analyze complex abstract 
notions. 

The faculty of abstraction, conjoined with the use of 
language, is that chiefly which distinguishes human nature, 

10 and raises man far above all other animals. 

After having thought of certain qualities apart from the 
things in which they are found, the human mind takes 
another step, and proceeds to bring together such qualities 
and compose them in new forms : — this is invention. 

15 The same faculty enables man to think of the quality, or 
goodness or badness of actions, and is therefore essential 
to accountableness, and forms the basis of our moral 
nature. 

Those differences of intellectual character and taste 

20 which distinguish mankind individually depend very much 
upon the faculty of abstraction. One man possesses 
eminently the power of separating color from form ; and 
he becomes a painter : another, in connection with sensi- 
bility and delicacy of taste, readily separates or draws off 

25 those qualities of things which excite the imagination ; and 
he becomes a poet : another discerns and separates the 
mechanical properties of matter; and he is an inventor of 
machines : another discriminates mathematical properties; 
and he addicts himself to abstract science. 

30 Each department of science, and each walk of active 
life, has its peculiar kind of abstraction ; nor can a man be 
very successful in any line, if nature has denied him the 
special faculty which is demanded in that line. 

What is called a natural taste for particular pursuits is 

35 most commonly a peculiar power of considering some one 
class of qualities apart from all other qualities or circum- 
stances. It is well when the choice of a profession is 
made in conformity with the original conformation of the 
mind. — Taylor's Eleinents of Thought. 



388 ' Parker's exercises in [ex. cm. 

EXERCISE CII. 

The Light-House. 

The scene was more beautiful far to my eye 

Than if day in its pride had arrayed it ; 

The land-breeze blew mild, and the azure-arched sky 

Looked pure as the Spirit that made it ; 
5 The murmur rose soft as I silently gazed 

In the shadowy waves' playful motion, 

From the dim distant hill, 'till the light-house fire blazed 

Like a star in the midst of the ocean. 

No longer the joy of the sailor-boy's breast 
10 Was heard in his wildly-breathed numbers ; 

The sea-bird had flown to her wave-girdled nest, 

The fisherman sunk to his slumbers : 

One moment I looked from the hill's geyatle slope, 

All hushed was the billows' commotion, 
15 And thought that the light-house looked lovely as hope, 

That star of life's tremulous ocean. 

The time is long past, and the scene is afar, 

Yet when my head rests on its pillow. 

Will memory sometimes rekindle the star 
20 That blazed on the breast of the billow : 

In life's closing hour, when the trembling soul flies, 

And death stills the heart's last emotion ; 

O ! then may the seraph of mercy arise, 

Like a star on eternity's ocean. T. Moore. 



EXERCISE cm. 
Aqueous Agejicies. 

25 Aqueous agents, or those arising from the power and 
force of water, are perhaps not so universal nor so complex 
in their operations as atmospheric; but they are more 
powerful, and consequently exert a more obvious influence 
in modifying the crust of the globe. Their mode of action 

30 is either mechanical or chemical; — mechanical, as when a 

river wears away its banks, and carries the material to 

the sea ; and chemical, when from gaseous admixture 

water is enabled to dissolve certain rocks and metals. 

The action of water is sometimes slow and gradual, as 

35 in the wearing down of rocks by rain ; or rapid and violent, 



EX. cm.] RHETORICAL READING. 389 

as in the case of river-floods and sea-storms. The effects 
of rain upon a cliff may not amount to one inch in a hun- 
dred years, while hundreds of acres of alluvial land may 
be swept to the ocean by one river-flood. 
5 Water operates variously : — sometimes by itself, as in 
rivers ; sometimes in union with the atmosphere, as during- 
land and sea storms. Its power as a geological agent is most 
obvious in the case of rains, springs, rivers, lakes, waves, 
currents and tides ; and the results of these agents are dis- 

10 tinguished as meteoric, fluviatile, lacustrine, or oceanic. 

Rain, hail, snow, and all atmospheric vapors, exercise a 

degrading influence on the earth's surface. By entering 

the pores and fissures of rocks, they soften and gradually 

dissolve their surface, and thus materially assist the opera- 

15 tions of frosts, winds, &c. Rain, accompanied by high 
winds, acts with greater force ; snow, from accumulating 
during frost, and suddenly dissolving during fresh weather, 
sometimes occasions violent floods and inundations. Floods 
arising from the melting of snow are generally very de- 

20 structive, for, during the season when they occur, the sur- 
face is soft and loose, and much more liable to be carried 
away. 

Rain and other vapors are indispensable to the growth 
of vegetables, and, when accompanied with sufficient 

25 warmth, a luxuriant and gigantic vegetation, like that of 
the tropics, is the result. The amount of rain which falls 
on the earth's surface is exceedingly varied, ranging from 
twenty or thirty inches to several feet per annum. In 
tropical regions, rains are periodical ; that is, fall for weeks 

30 together at certain seasons. This gives rise to inunda- 
tions ; hence the peculiar phenomena attending the flood- 
ings of such rivers as the Nile, Ganges, &;c. 

Of the quantity of* rain which fell during past periods 
of the world we have no positive knowledge ; but if we are 

35 able to discover evidence of a higher temperature, we are 
warranted in concluding that the quantity of rain was 
much greater. 

A greater fall of rain would produce larger rivers, and 
larger rivers would carry down a greater quantity of silt 

40 and debris; this would form more extensive plains and 
deltas ; and these, again, would sustain a more gigantic 
race of plants and animals. From this example, the stu- 
dent will readily perceive the connexion and influence of 
these allied causes. Rain-water generally contains car- 
33=^ 



390 Parker's exercises in [ex. cm. 

bonic acid, ammonia, and other substances; and conse- 
quently acts chemically as well as mechanically. 

Springs are discharges of water from the crust of the 
earth, either by rents, fissures, or other openings in the 
5 surface. The water which falls in rain, snow, &c., partly 
runs off, and partly sinks into the crust, where it collects 
in vast quantities, and ultimately finds its way again to 
the surface by springs. 

Springs issuing from strata at great depths are said to 

10 be deep-seated; those from clay or gravel are shallow. 
Some only flow during, or shortly after, rains, and are said 
to be temporary: some flow always, and are perennial; 
Mobile others flow and ebb, and are said to be intermi'- 
tent. 

15 The characters in which geologists have principally v 
consider springs are cold, thermal, and mineral. Col( 
springs have a mechanical action when they cut out chan- 
nels for themselves ; and they act chemically when, foi 
example, they contain carbonic acid, and dissolve portions? 

20 of the rocks through which they pass. 

All petrifying springs — that is, such as convert wood 
and bones into stony matter — act chemically. Thermal 
or hot springs occur in numerous parts of the world, (Eng- 
land, Iceland, Germany, Switzerland, Italy, Hindostan, 

25 &;c,,) and also act mechanically and chemically, but with 
much greater chemical force than cold springs. Mineral 
springs may be either cold or hot, and take their name 
from the circumstance of their waters holding some mineral 
or earthy substance in solution. 

80 Mineral springs, geologically speaking, are by far the 
most important, as, from their composition, they indicate 
the kind of rocks through which they pass, while they 
more or less influence all deposits or waters into which 
they flow. Thus, some contain iron, and are said to be 

35 ferruginous, or chalybeate ; some copper, (cupriferous,) 
some lime, (calcareous,) some salt, (saline,) while others 
give off sulphureous vapors ; and so on with almost every 
known mineral. 

Those issuing from strata containing iron or lime are 

40 more or less impregnated with these substances ; and when 
they arrive at the surface of the earth, and their waters 
become exposed to the air, the ferruginous or limy matter 
is deposited along their courses, or is carried down to the 
nearest river or lake. 



EX. cm.] RHETORICAL READING. 391 

If layers of mud, sand or gravel, be forming in sach a 
lake, these layers will be impregnated with the matter of 
the springs ; hence geologists speak of ferruginous, calca- 
reous, or saliferous strata. Mineral springs may therefore 
5 be said to exert a two-fold influence : — first, by dissolving 
and carrying away matter from the strata beneath ; and, 
second, by adding that matter to the strata which are now 
being formed on the surface. 

The student will thus perceive the manner in which 

10 springs act in modifying the crust of the earth ; and in 
proportion to their size, the softness of the strata through 
which they passed, and the degree of heat they had 
acquired, so must the extent of their influence have been 
at any former period. 

15 Rivers are the most important aqueous agents employed 
in modifying the surface of the globe. Springs, as they 
issue into open day, naturally seek a lower level; and 
numbers of them, meeting in one channel, form streams, 
which again join in some still lower valley, where their 

20 union produces rivers of various sizes. Rivers may be 
said to be a species of natural drainings, by which the 
superabundant moisture which falls on the land is again 
returned to the sea. They are of all dimensions : — in 
breadth from a few feet to several miles ; so shallow that a 

25 boy might wade them, or so deep as to float the largest 
ships ; and ranging in length of course from fifty or sixty 
miles to as many hundreds. 

The geological action of rivers is two-fold: — first, by 
wearing down the land through which they pass, and then 

30 by carrying down the material to lakes and seas. Both 
their degrading and transporting force depends upon their 
velocity. For example, it has been calculated that a force of 
three inches per second will tear up fine clay, six inches will 
lift fine sand, eight inches sand as coarse as linseed, and 

35 twelve fine gravel ; while it requires a velocit)^ of twenty- 
four inches per second to roll along rounded pebbles an 
inch in diameter, and thirty-six inches per second to sweep 
angular stones of the size of a hen's egg. 

Rivers, during floods, often acquire a much greater 

40 velocity than this, and stones of considerable weight are 
borne down by their currents. The degrading power of 
running water depends also upon the kind of material 
through which it flows ; loose soil, clay, and sandstone 
being easily worn down, while granite or basalt will sufler 

45 little loss for centuries. 



392 Parker's exercises in [ex. cm. 

The mere flowing of pure water would* exert little influ- 
ence on hard rocks ; but all rivers carry down sand and 
gravel; and these, by rubbing and striking against the 
sides and bottoms of the channel, assist in scooping out 
5 those channels which everywhere present themselves. 
The Nerbuddah, a river of India, has scooped out a chan- 
nel in basaltic rock one hundred feet deep. 

Messrs. Sedgwick and Murchison give an account of 
gorges scooped out in beds of the rock called conglomerate, 

10 in the valleys of the Eastern Alps, six or seven hundred 
feet deep. A stream of lava, which was vomited from 
JEtna. in 1603, happened to flow across the channel of 
the river Simeto. Since that time the stream has cut a 
passage through the compact rock to the depth of between 

15 forty and fifty feet, and to the breadth of between fifty and 
several hundred feet. 

The cataract of Niagara, in North America, has receded 
nearly fifty yards during the last forty years. Below the 
falls, the river flows in a channel upwards of one hundred 

20 and fifty feet deep and one hundred and sixty yards wide, 
for a distance of seven miles ; and this channel has evi- 
dently been produced by the action of the river. Such 
effects as the above are produced by the general or ordinary 
action of water ; but when rivers are swollen by heavy 

25 rains, by the sudden melting of snow, and the like, then 
they act with extraordinary violence. 

In these cases they overflow their banks, rush with a 
velocity of twenty or thirty feet per second, tear up the soil, 
and sweep before them trees, animals, houses, and bridges. 

30 The water of all rivers which exert a degrading influence 
is more or less turbid, and an idea of their power may be 
formed by observing this fact. 

The matter which rivers carry down is either deposited 
along their banks, in lakes, or in the ocean. If they flow 

35 sluggishly along a flat valley, the mud and sand which 
their waters contain gradually falls to the bottom, and there 
rest as sediment. This sedimentary matter forms what is 
called alluvial land, and most of the flat and fertile valleys 
in the world have been so produced. 

40 Again, when a lake occurs in the course of rivers, the 
sediment is there collected, and the water issues from the 
lake as if it had been filtered. In progress of time, lakes 
are filled or sifted up with this sediment, and their basins 
appear first as marshes, and latterly as alluvial land. 



EX. cm.] RHETORICAL READING. 393 

But whatever quantity of matter may be deposited in 
valleys or lakes, the greatest amount will always be carried 
down to the ocean, and deposited at the mouth of the river, 
or along the shores. The heaviest materia], such as 
5 gravel, will fall down first, then the lighter sand, and ulti- 
mately the finest mud. The mud of the Ganges discolors 
the Bay of Bengal to a distance of sixty miles from its 
mouth; and, according to Captain Sabine, the m.uddy 
waters of the Amazon may be distinguished three hundred 

10 m.iles from the shore. 

The consequence of this continual seaward carriage of 
sedimentary matter is, that at the mouths of most rivers 
there are alluvial formations known by the name of deltas ; 
such as those of the Nile, the Ganges, the Niger, &;c. 

15 They take their name from their resemblance in shape to 
the Greek letter A (delta;) and frequently extend over 
vast surfaces — that of the Ganges being about two hun- 
dred miles in one direction, by two hundred and twenty 
in another. They consist of alternate layers of sand, 

20 gravel, or mud, according to the kind of material the river 
carries down. 

The geological results effected by the agency of running 
water are ceaseless and universal. Rivers are gradually 
wearing do^^al the hills and higher lands, and as gradually 

25 silting up lakes and low tracks of valley land. They lay 
down beds of gravel, sand, or mud ; and these beds, again, 
enclose trees, plants, and the bones and shells of animals, 
in greater or less abundance. 

As rivers now act, so must they have always acted, and 

30 to this kind of agency must we ascribe the formation of 
many of the rocks (with their fossils) which now form the 
crust of the earth, both at great depths and at distances 
now far removed from the sea. We have no actual 
knowledge of the rivers of the ancient world ; but judging 

35 from the extent of sedimentary rocks, they must have been 
much more gigantic than most of those now existing. 

Waves, currents, and tides are also powerful geological 
agents. Waves are continually in action ; and according 
to their violence, and the materials composing the sea-coast, 

40 so is the amount of change produced. Clifls of sandstone, 
chalk, clay, or other soft rock, are, year after year, under- 
mined by their force ; masses fall down, are soon ground 
to pieces, and swept oflf by every tide ; new underminings 
take place ; new masses fall down, and thus thousands of 

45 acres of land have been reduced to a level with the sea. 



394 Parker's exercises in [ex. civ. 

What the waves batter down, the tides and currents 

transport to sheltered bays and creeks along the shore ; so 

that, while in one quarter the sea is making encroachments 

on the land, in another it is accumulating sand and gravel 

5 to form new land. 

The power of waves and currents is much increased by 
the fact that rocks are more easily moved in water, and 
thus gravel beaches are piled up or swept away with appa- 
rent facility. The ordinary action is small, however, com- 

10 pared with what is sometimes accomplished during storms 
and high inundations ; and those who have witnessed the 
effects of a few successive tides at such periods will readily 
form an estimate of what may be accomplished during the 
lapse of ages. 

15 The action of waves, currents and tides, is varied and 
complicated ; but it may be stated generally, that waves 
batter down the sea-cliffs, or raise up loose matter from the 
bottom ; that tidal currents convey the disintegrated matter 
to more sheltered bays and creeks ; and that oceanic cur- 

20 rents convey floating material, such as drift-wood, plants, 
and dead animals, from one part of the ocean to another. 
Tides rise and ebb from four to forty feet ; they enter into 
certain rivers for many miles, and thus a mingling of fresh 
water and marine deposits takes place. As at present, so 

25 in ages past ; and by diligently studying the effects pro- 
duced by waves and tides, the student will be enabled to 
account for many apppearances which the sedimentary 
rocks present. — David Page. 



EXERCISE CIY. 

Soliloquy of Hamlet on Death. 

To be, or not to be ; — that is the question. 
30 Whether 't is nobler in the mind to suffer 

The stings and arrows of outrageous fortune ; 

Or, to take arms against a sea of trouble, 

And, by opposing, end them. 

To die — to sleep - 
35 No more ? — and, by a sleep, to say we end 

The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 

That flesh is heir to — 't is a consummation 

Devoutly to be wished. 



EX. CV.] RHETORICAL READING. 395 

To die — to sleep ; 
To sleep — perchance to dream ; ay, there 's the rub — 
For, in that sleep of death, what dreams may come, 
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil, 
5 Must give us pause. — There 's the respect, 
That makes calamity of so long life. 

For, who would bear the whips and scorns of time, 
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely, 
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay, 

10 The insolence of office, and the spurns 

That patient merit of the miworthy takes — 
When he himself might his quietus make 
With a bare bodkin ? 

Who would fardels bear 

15 To groan and sweat under a weary life. 

But that the dread of something after death 
(That undiscovered country, from whose bourn 
No traveller returns) puzzles the will, 
And makes us rather bear those ills we have, 

20 Than fly to others that we know not of ? 

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all : 
And thus the native hue of resolution 
Is sicklied o'er wnth the pale cast of thought ; 
And enterprises of great pith and moment, 

25 W^ith this regard, their currents turn away, 

And lose the name of action. Shakspeare. 



EXERCISE CV. 

Hotspur^ s Soliloquy on the Contents of a Letter. 

" But, for mine own part, my lord, I could be well con- 
tented to be there, in respect of the love I bear your 
house." — He could be contented to be there ! Why is 

30 he not, then ? — In respect of the love he bears our house ! 
He shows in this he loves his own barn better than he 
loves our house. Let me see some more. 

"The purpose you undertake is dangerous." — Why, 
that 's certain ; — 't is dangerous to take a cold, to sleep, 

85 to drink : but I tell you, my Lord Fool, out of this nettle 
danger we pluck this flower safety. " The purpose you 
undertake is dangerous ; the friends you have named, un- 
certain ; the time itself, unsorted ; and your whole plot too 



396 PARKER'S EXERCISES IN [eX. CVI. 

light for the counterpoise of so great an opposition." — Say 
. you so ? — sa3'' you so ? I say unto you again, you are a 
shallow, cowardly hind, and you lie ! 

What a lackbrain is this ! Our plot is a good plot as 
5 ever was laid; our friends true and constant; — a good 
plot, good friends, and full of expectation ; — an excellent 
plot, very good friends. What a frosty-spirited rogue is 
this ! Why, my Lord of York commends the plot, and the 
general course of the action. By this hand, if I were now 

10 by this rascal, I could brain him with his lady's fan. Is 
there not my father, m}?- uncle, and myself ? Lord Edmund 
Mortimer, my Lord of York, and Owen Glendower ? Is 
there not, besides, the Douglases ? Have I not all their 
letters, to meet me in arms by the ninth of the next 

15 month ? and are there not some of them set forward 
already ? 

What a pagan rascal is this I — an infidel! Ha! you 
shall see now, in very sincerity of fear and cold heart, will 
he to the king, and lay open all our proceedings. Oh ! I 

20 could divide myself and go to buffets, for moving such a 
dish of skimmed milk with so honorable an action ! Hang 
him ! let him tell the king. We are prepared. I will set 
forward to-night. — Shakspeare. 



EXERCISE CVI. 
The Cataract of Lodore. 

[This piece should be read with tones in which "the sound is an echo of the sense."] 

" How does the water come down at Lodore ? " 
25 " Here it comes sparkling, 

And there it lies darkling ; 

Here smoking and frothing, 

Its tumult and wrath in, 

It hastens along, conflicting and strong, — 
30 Now striking and raging. 

As if a war waging. 

Its caverns and rocks among. 
" Rising and leaping, 

Sinking and creeping, 
35 Swelling and flinging. 

Showering and springing, 

Eddying and whisking, 



EX. CVI.] RHETORICAL READING. 397 

Spouting and frisking, 
Turning and twisting 

Around and around ; 
Collecting, disjecting, 
5 With endless rebound : 

Smiting and fighting, — 
A sight to delight in, — 
Confounding, astounding, 
Dinning and deafening the ear with its sound. 
10 "Eeceding and speeding, 

And shockirig and rocking, 
And darting and parting. 
And threading and spreading, 
And whizzino- and hissing, 
15 And dripping and skipping, 

And whitening and brightening, 
And quivering and shivering, 
And hitting and splitting. 
And shining and twining, 
20 And rattling- and battlinsf, 

And shaking and quaking," 
And pouring and roaring, 
And waving and raving, 
And tossing and crossing, 
25 And flowing and glowing. 

And running and stunning. 
And hurrying and skurrying, 
And glittering and frittering, 
And gathering and feathering, 
30 And dinning and spinning, * 

And foaming and roaming. 
And dropping and hopping. 
And working and jerking, 
And guggling and struggling, 
35 And heaving and cleaving. 

And thundering and floundering, 
And falling and brawling and sprawling. 
And driving and riving and striving, 
And sprinkling and twinkling and wrinkling, 
40 And sounding and bounding and rounding. 
And bubbling and troubling and doubling, 
Dividing and gliding and sliding. 
And grumbling and rumbling and tumbling. 
And clattering and battering and shattering, 
34 



398 Parker's exercises in [ex. cvii. 

And gleaming- and streaming and steaming and beaming, 
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing, 
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling, 
Retreating and meeting and beating and sheeting, 
5 Delaying and straying and playing and spraying. 
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing, 
Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling. 
And thumping and flumping and bumping and jumping, 
And dashing and flashing and splashing and clashing ; 
10 And so never ending but always descending, 

Sounds and motion forever and ever are blending. 
All at once and all o'er, with a mighty uproar ; — 
And this way the water comes down at Lodore." 

Southey. 



EXERCISE CVII. 

On the 'Power of Custom^ and the Uses to which it may be 
applied. 

There is not a common saying which has a better turn 

15 of sense in it than what we often hear in the mouths of 
the vulgar, that "Custom is a second nature." It is, in- 
deed, able to form the man anew, and give him inclinations 
and capacities altogether different from those he was born 
with. 

20 A person who is addicted to play or gaming, though he 
took but little delight in it at first, by degrees contracts so 
strong an inclination towards it, and gives himself up so 
enfirely to it, that it seems the only end of his being. 
The love of a retired or busy life will grow upon a man 

25 insensibly, as he is conversant in the one or the other, till 
he is utterly unqualified for relishing that to which he has 
been for some time disused. 

Nay, a man may smoke, or drink, or take snuff', till he 
is unable to pass away his time without it, not to mention 

80 how our delight in any particular study, art, or science, 
rises and improves in proportion to the application which 
we bestow upon it. Thus, what was at first an exercise 
becomes at length an entertainment. Our employments 
are changed into diversions. The mind grows fond of 

35 those actions it is accustomed to; and is drawn with re- 
luctancy from those paths in which it has been used to 
walk. 



EX. evil.] RHETORICAL READIISG. 399 

If we attentively consider this property of human na- 
ture, it may instruct us in very fine moralities. In the 
first place, I would have no man discouraged with that 
kind of life, or series of action, in which the choice of 
5 others, or his own necessities, may have engaged him. It 
may perhaps be very disagreeable to him, at first ; but use 
and application will certainly render it not only less pain- 
ful, but pleasing and satisfactory. 

In the second place, I would recommend to every one 

10 the admirable precept which Pythagoras is said to have 
given to his disciples, and which that philosopher must 
have drawn from the observation I have enlarged upon : 
" Pitch upon that course of life which is the most excel- 
lent, and custom will render it the most delightful." 

15 Men whose circumstances will permit them to choose 
their own way of life are inexcusable if they do not pur- 
sue that which their judgment tells them is the most laud- 
able. The voice of reason is more to be regarded than 
the bent of any present inclination; since, by the rule 

20 above mentioned, inclination will at length come over to 
reason, though we can never force reason to comply with 
inclination. 

In the third place, this observation may teach the most 
sensual and irreligious man to overlook those hardships 

25 and difficulties which are apt to discourage him from the 
prosecution of a virtuous life. " The gods," said Hesiod, 
" have placed labor before virtue ; the way to her is at 
first rough and difficult, but grows more smooth and easy 
the further we advance in it." The man who proceeds 

30 in it with steadiness and resolution will, in a little time, 
find that " her ways are ways of pleasantness, and that 
all her paths are peace." 

To enforce this consideration,' we may further observe, 
that the practice of religion will not only be attended with 

35 that pleasure which naturally accompanies those actions 
to which we are habituated, but with those supernumerary 
joys of heart that rise from the consciousness of such a 
pleasure ; from the satisfaction of acting up to the dic- 
tates of reason, and from the prospect of a happy immor- 

40 tality. 

In the fourth place, we may learn from this observation 
which we have made on the mind of man to take partic- 
ular care, when we are once settled in a regular course of 
life, how we too frequently indulge ourselves in even the 



400 Parker's exercises in [ex. cviii. 

most innocent diversions and entertainments ; since the 
mind may insensibly fall off from the relish of virtuous 
actions, and by degrees exchange that pleasure w^hich it 
takes in the performance of its duty for delights of a 
5 much inferior and an unprofitable nature. 

The last use which I shall make of this remarkable 
property in human nature, of being delighted v^ith those 
actions to which it is accustomed, is, to show how abso- 
lutely necessary it is for us to gain habits of virtue in this 

10 life, if we would enjoy the pleasures of the next. The 
state of bliss we call heaven will not be capable of affect- 
ing those minds which are not thus qualified for it ; we 
must, in this world, gain a relish for truth and virtue, if 
we would be able to taste that knowledge and perfection 

15 which are to make us happy in the next. 

The seeds of those spiritual joys and raptures which 
are to rise up and flourish in the soul to all eternity must 
be planted in it during this its present state of probation. 
In short, heaven is not to be looked upon only as the re- 

20 ward, but as the natural effect, of a religious life. 

Addison. 



EXERCISE CVIII. 

The Contrast. 

As rueful stood his other half, as wan 
Of cheek : small her ambition was — but strange. 
The distaff, needle, all domestic cares, 
Religion, children, husband, home, were things 

25 She could not bear the thought of; bitter drugs 

That sickened her soul. The house of wanton mirth 
And revelry, the mask, the dance, she loved, 
And in their service soul and body spent 
Most cheerfully ; a little admiration, 

30 Or true, or false, no matter which, pleased her. 
And o'er the wreck of fortune lost, and health. 
And peace, and an eternity of bliss 
Lost, made her sweetly smile. She was convinced 
That God had made her greatly out of taste, 

35 And took much pains to make herself anew. 

Bedaubed with paint, and hung with ornaments - 
Of curious selection — gaudy toy ! 
A show unpaid for, paying to be seen ! 



EX. CVIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 401 

As beggar by the way, most humbly asking 

The alms of public gaze, she went abroad : 

Folly admired, and indication gave 

Of envy ; cold civility made bows, 
5 And smoothly flattered; wisdom shook his head; 

And laughter shaped his lip into a smile ; 

Sobriety did stare ; forethought grew pale ; 

And modesty hung down the head and blushed ; 

And pity wept, as. on the frothy surge 
10 Of fashion tossed, she passed them by, like sail 

Before some devilish blast, and got no time 

To think, and never thought, till on the rock 

She dashed of ruin, anguish, and despair. 
O how unlike this giddy thing in time, 
15 And at the day of judgment how unlike, 

The modest, meek, retiring dame ! Her house 

Was ordered well ; her children taught the way 

Of life — who, rising up in honor, called 

Her blest. Best pleased to be admired at home, 
20 And hear reflected from her husband's praise 

Her own, she sought no gaze of foreign eye. 

His praise alone, and faithful love and trust 

Reposed, was happiness enough for her. 

Yet who that saw her pass, and heard the poor 
25 With earnest benedictions on her steps 

Attend, could from obeisance keep his eye. 

Or tongue from due applause. In virtue fair, 

Adorned with modesty, and matron grace 

Unspeakable, and love — her face was hke 
30 The light, most welcome to the eye of man ; 

JRefreshing most, most honored, most desired, 

Of all he saw in the dim world below. 

As morning when she shed her golden locks, 

And on the dewy top of Kermon walked, 
85 Or Zion hill — so glorious was her path : 

Old men beheld and did her reverence. 

And bade their daughters look, and take from her 

Example of their future life : the young 

Admired, and new resolve of virtue made. 
40 And none who was her husband asked : his air 

Serene, and countenance of joy, the sign 

Of inward satisfaction, as he passed 

The crowd, or sat among the elders, told. 

In holiness complete, and in the robes 
34^ 



402 Parker's exercises in [ex. cvi 

Of saving righteousness, arrayed for heaven, 
How fair, that day, among the fair, she stood ! 
How lovely on the eternal hills her steps ! 
Restored to reason, on that morn appeared 
5 The lunatic — who raved in chains, and asked 
No mercy, when he died. Of lunacy 
Innumerous were the causes : humbled pride, 
Ambition disappointed, riches lost. 
And bodily disease, and sorrow, oft 

10 By man inflicted on his brother man ; 

Sorrow, that made the reason drunk, and yet 
Left much untasted — so the cup was filled : 
Sorrow, that like an ocean, dark, deep, rough. 
And shoreless, rolled its billows o'er the soul 

15 Perpetually, and without hope of end. 

Take one example, one of female woe. 
Loved by a father and a mother's love. 
In rural peace she lived, so fair, so light 
Of heart, so good, and young, that reason scarce 

20 The eye could credit, but would doubt, as she 
Did stoop to pull the lily or the rose 
From morning's dew, if it reality 
Of flesh and blood, or holy vision, saw. 
In imagery of perfect womanhood. 

25 But short her bloom — her happiness was short. 
One saw her loveliness, and with desire 
Unhallowed burning, to her ear addressed 
Dishonest words : " Her favor was his life, 
His heaven ; her frown his woe, his night, his death." 

30 With turgid phrase thus wove in flattery's loom, 
He on her womanish nature won, and age 
Suspicionless, and ruined, and forsook : 
For he a chosen villain was at heart. 
And capable of deeds that durst not seek 

35 Repentance. Soon her father saw^ her shame ; 
His heart grew stone ; he drove her forth to want 
And wintry winds, and with a horrid curse 
Pursued her ear, forbidding all return. 
Upon a hoary clifl' that watched the sea 

40 Her babe was found — dead : on its little cheek, 
The tear, that nature bade it weep, had turned 
An ice-drop, sparkling in the morning beam; 
And to the. turf its helpless hands were frozen; 
For she, the woful mother, had gone mad, 



EX. CIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 403 

x4Lnd laid it down, regardless of its fate 
And of her own. Yet had she many days 
Of sorrow in the world, but never wept. 
She lived on alms ; and carried in her hand 
5 Some withered stalks she gathered in the spring : 
When any asked the cause, she smiled, and said 
They were her sisters, and v^ould come and watch 
Her grave when she was dead. She never spoke 
Of her deceiver, father, mother, home, 

10 Or child, or heaven, or hell, or God ; but still 
In lonely places walked, and ever gazed 
Upon the withered stalks, and talked to them ; 
Till wasted to the shadow of her youth. 
With woe too wide to see beyond — she died : 

15 Not unatoned for by imputed blood. 

Nor by the Spirit that mysterious works 
Unsanctified. Aloud her father cursed 
That day his guilty pride, which would not own 
A daughter whom the God of heaven and earth 

20 Was not ashamed to call his own ; and he 
Who ruined her read from her holy look, 
That pierced him with perdition manifold, 
His sentence, burning with vindictive fire. 

Pollock'' s Course of Time, 



EXERCISE CIX. 

How to Remember what we Read. 

Most readers, I presume, will open this chapter with no 

25 little curiosity, and a feeling which would be expressed by 

these words : " My memory is bad enough — would it 

were as good as that of such a one of my friends ! Let me 

see if there be any rules to suit so bad a case as mine." 

Now, before you decide that you have a worse memory 

30 than your friend, let me ask, — is there no one subject on 

which you can equal him ? You have no doubt observed 

that a large class of men who are devoted exclusively and 

literally to animal pursuits — sportsmen, to wit — have the 

greatest difficulty in remembering matters of history or 

35 general literature, but yet are so ready with the names of 

all the winners of the Derby, Oaks, or St. Leger, and the 

progeny and pedigree of each, that a scholar would be as 



404 Parker's exercises in [ex. cix. 

much surprised at their memory of horses and mares, as 
they could be at the scholar's memory of kings and queens. 
Probably you will now say, " All this we grant; it is 
true we have memory for some things but not for litera- 
5 ture." Your meaning is, that you have memory where 
you have attention. The sportsman cannot attend to books, 
nor the scholar to horses. The art of memory is the art 
of attention. A memory for literature will increase with 
that interest in literature by which attention is increased. 

10 The sportsman could remember pages of history relating 
to forest laws, or encouragement of the breed of horses, 
but not the adjoining pages on the law of succession ; and 
only because he felt an interest, and consequently paid at- 
tention, in reading the one, but not the other. 

15 Again, memory depends on association, or the tendency 
of some things to suggest or make us think of others. 
The geologist remembers fossils, but not flowers ; and the 
botanist flowers, but not fossils. Each has in his mind a 
" cell " for the one specimen, but not for the other ; and 

20 the observations which fall in with the ideas of the geolo- 
gist, and link to many a subtle chain of thought, remain 
alone and unassociated in the mind of the botanist. Asso- 
ciation certainly is, in some respects, an aid to attention ; 
they are usually considered as distinct, and the basis of 

25 memory; therefore every rule I can give for promoting 
either attention or association will be virtually rules for 
memory. 

Memory is assisted by whatever tends to a full view and 
clear apprehension of a subject. Therefore, in reading 

30 history, occasionally lay the book aside and try if you can 
give a connected narrative of events. " What thou dost 
not know, thou canst not tell," but clear ideas never want 
plain words. Do not be satisfied with feeling that the 
subject is too familiar for repetition to be necessary. The 

35 better a story is known, the less time it will take to repeat. 
Put your "thoughts in express words." — This is an 
invaluable exercise ; for, first of all, you will greatly im- 
prove your power of expression, and gain that command 
of language on which one of my friends heard Fox com- 

40 pliment Pitt, as having not only a word, but the word, the 
very word, to express his meaning. 

Secondly, the practice of putting your thoughts into 
words will improve your power of conception. When you 
see a speaker, in a long argument, contract and fix his eye 



EX. CEX.] RHETORICAL READIiNG. 405 

as if on some aerial form, he is trying- to body forth his 
ideas and hold them up as a picture, from which he may 
select, read off, and lay before his hearers, such portions as 
he thinks will convey the desired impression. 
5 Conception is the quality for which we call a man " clear- 
headed; " for this enables him to grasp at one view the 
beginning, middle, and end of what he means to say, and 
have the order of his ideas at the direction of a cool judg- 
ment, instead of depending upon chance. To repeat a 
10 narrative to another is better still than repeating it to your- 
self; you are more excited to accuracy, and your memory 
is assisted by the degree of attention and association which 
casual remarks and questions may promote. 

oz, -V-^ -^ -^ -^ -^ 

■^ -A* 'A' 'TT -TV* "VV* 

With a view to distinct conception, writing is usually 

15 recommended to aid memory. As to mere transcribing, 
though much has been advanced in its favor, I believe it is 
by no means to be adopted. Much experience has shown 
me that it not only wastes time, but deceives us as to the 
extent of our knowledge. We are flattered at the sight 

20 of the paper we fill, while in reality we are exercising not 
our wits but our fingers. 

Every university student knows how common it is to 
find men of misguided industry, with desks full and heads 
empty. Writing never aids memory but when it tends 

25 to clear conception. Most persons find it more pleasant 
to draw a sketch of a subject on a sheet of paper than on 
the tablets of the mind, but let them not suppose it is more 
improving. 

When you want relief or variety, you may try to write, 

30 instead of repeating, the subject of your morning's reading; 
but you will soon admit that the viva voce exercise is the 
better of the two. In speaking of conception, Abercrombie 
relates the case of a distinguished actor, who created great 
surprise by learning a long part with very short notice. 

35 " When questioned respecting the mental process which he 
employed, he said that he lost sight entirely of the audi- 
ence, and seemed to have nothing before him but the pages 
of the book from which he had learned; and that if any- 
thing had occurred to interrupt that illusion, he should have 

40 stopped instantly." 

Secondly. Memory is assisted by whatever adds to our 
interest or entertainment. — Therefore, all the remarks I 
have made relative to being guided by curiosity and incli- 



406 pahker's exercises in [ex. cix. 

nation are hints for memory. A man rarely forgets a fact 
which he hears in answer to a question he has himself 
originated : and the art of reading is to gain facts in such 
order that each shall be a nucleus or basis, as Abercrombie 
5 says, of more ; in other words, that every fact may be an 
answer to some question already in our minds, and suggest 
in its turn a new question in an endless series. 

Thirdly. Memory depends much on a thorough deter- 
mination to remember. — Most persons have memory 

10 enough for the purposes of their own business. Ask the 
guard of the mail how he remembers the places at which 
he has to drop his many parcels, and he will tell you, " be- 
cause he must." And if you put the same question to 
any number of different persons whose fortune depends on 

15 the constant exercise of memory, you will invariably receive 
similar answers, which is a proof from experience that our 
memory depends very much on our own will and determin- 
ation. If, by the force of resolution, a person can wake at 
any hour in the morning, it is easy to believe that, by the 

20 same means, he may also have a powerful command over 
his memory. 

While at the university, I had a very remarkable proof 
of this. I was assisting in his studies, previous to exam- 
ination, a friend, who assured me he could not remember 

25 what he read ; that such had been the case during fourteen 
university terms. But I said, — " Now you must remem- 
ber, — I know you can, — and I will have no more to do 
with you if you do not answer me correctly to-morrow on 
what we read to-day," Having rallied him in this way, I 

30 heard no more of the complaint. After his examination, 
he assured me that he was perfectly surprised at the extent 
to which his memory had served him, and fairly acknowl- 
edged that for years he had given way to a state of mental 
inactivity, never stopping to try his memory, but thinking 

35 of the Castalian stream rather after the manner of Baron 
Munchausen's horse when he had lost his hinder quarters 
with the portcullis. 

A man can remember, to a great extent, just as Johnson 
said a man might at any time compose, mastering his hu- 

40 mor, if he will only set to work with a dogged determina- 
tion. " That they can conquer who believe they can," 
is very generally true where the mind is concerned. A 
very common reason that men do not remember is, that 
they do not try ; a hearty and ever-present desire to pre- 
vail is the chief element of all success. 



EX. CIX.] RHETORICAL READING. 407 

Nothing but the fairy's wand can realize the capricious 
desire of the moment; but as to the objects of laudable 
wishes, deeply breathed, and for many a night and day 
ever present to the mind, — these are placed by Provndence 
5 more within our reach than is commonly believed. When 
a person says, " If I could only have my wish, I would 
excel in such an art or science," we may generally answer, 
" The truth is, you have no such wish ; all you covet is 
the empty applause, not the substantial accomplishment." 

10 The fault is "in ourselves, and not our stars," if we are 
slaves, and blindly yield to the pretensions of the many 
whose tongues would exhaust wiser heads than their own 
in half an hour. 

Before we complain of want of power and mental 

15 weapons, let us be sure that we make full use of what we 
have. When we see one man write without hands, and 
another quahfy himself (as in an instance within my own 
remembrance) for high university honors without eyes, a 
complaint of our memory, or other faculties, justifies the 

20 same conclusion as when workmen complain of their tools. 

These, or at least other instances equally surprising, are 

founded on good authority. Still, Abercrombie justly says, 

that though the power of remembering unconnected facts 

and lists of words makes a great show, and is the kind of 

25 memory most generally admired, still it is often combined 
with very little judgment, and is not so important a feature 
in a cultivated mind as that memory founded on the rela- 
tions, analogies, and natural connections of different sub- 
jects, which IS more in our power. 

30 Indeed, mere parrot memory is of less use than is gen- 
erally supposed. It is true, it enables a superficial person 
to pass off the opinions of others as his own ; but educated 
men can generally remember enough for their own purposes, 
and can command data sufficient for the operations of their 

35 judgment. What we most want ready and available is the 
power and the science, not the tools. A mathematician is 
such still, without his formulae and diagrams. The oldest 
judge remembers the rules of law, though he forgets the 
case in point, and the ablest counsel are allowed refreshers. 

40 Surely it is enough that our minds, like our guns, carry 
true to the mark, without being always loaded. 

Fourthly. Memory is assisted by whatever tends to 
connexion or association of ideas. — When I asked the 
friend above mentioned the particular m*cans he took to 
remember his lectures previous to examination, he said, 



408 Parker's exercises in [ex. ex. 

that besides looking everything " more fully in the face " 
than he had ever done before, he tried " to match, sort, and 
put along-side of something similar," each event in its 
5 turn, and also to say to himself, — " Here are four or five 
causes, circumstances, or characters, relating to the same 
thing; by such a peculiarity in the first I shall remember 
the second, while something else in the second will remind 
me of the third and fourth." 

10 During this process, he said he became so familiar with 
many facts, that he could remember without any associa- 
tion at all. Again ; in all the works and phenomena of 
nature, moral or physical, men of com.prehensive minds 
discern a marked family likeness ; certain facts indicate the 

15 existence of others ; so that memory is assisted by a cer- 
tain key which classification suggests; and thus one effort 
of memory serves for all. — Pycroffs Course of Reading. 



EXERCISE ex. 

Happiness equally distributed. 

As some lone miser, visiting his store, 
Bends at his treasure, counts, recounts it o'er, 

20 Hoards after hoards his rising raptures fill, 

Yet still he sighs, for hoards are wanting still : 
Thus to my breast alternate passions rise. 
Pleased with each good that Heaven to man supplies ; 
Yet oft a sigh prevails, and sorrows fall, 

25 To see the hoard of human bliss so small ; 
And oft I wish amid the scene to find 
Some spot to real happiness consigned,- 
Where my worn soul, each wandering hope at rest, 
May gather bliss to see my fellows blessed. 

30 But where to find that happiest spot below, 
Who can direct, w^hen all pretend to know? 
The shuddering tenant of the frigid zone 
Boldly proclaims that happiest spot his own ; 
Extols the treasures of his stormy seas, 

35 And his long nights of revelry and ease. 
The naked negro, panting at the line. 
Boasts of his golden sands and palmy wine, 
Basks in the glare, or stems the tepid wave. 
And thanks his gods for all the good they gave. 



EX. CXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 409 

Such is the patriot's boast where'er we roam ; 
His first, best country, ever is at home. 
And yet, perhaps, if countries we compare. 
And estimate the blessings which they share, 
5 Though patriots flatter, still shall wisdom find 
An equal portion dealt to all mankind : 
As different good, by art or nature given 
To different nations, makes their blessings even. 
Nature, a mother kind alike to all, 
10 Still grants her bliss at labor's earnest call ; 
With food as well the peasant is supplied 
On Idra's cliffs as Arno's shelvy side ; 
And though the rocky-crested summits frown, 
These rocks, by custom, turn to beds of down. 

^ 7^ ^ W T^ T^ 

15 Thus every good his native wilds impart 
Imprints the patriot passion on his heart ; 
And even those hills that round his mansion rise 
Enhance the bliss his scanty fund supplies. 
Dear is that shed to which his soul conforms, 

20 And dear that hill which lifts him to the stonns ; 
And as a child, when scaring sounds molest, 
Clings close and closer to the mother's breast. 
So the loud torrent and the whirlwind's roar, 
But bind him to his native mountains more. 

Goldsmith, 



LESSON CXI. 
Francisco Pizarro. 

25 Francisco Pizarro was tall in stature, well propor- 
tioned, and with a countenance not unpleasing. Bred in 
camps, with nothing of the polish of a court, he had a 
soldier-like bearing, and the air of one accustomed to com- 
mand. 

30 But though not polished, there was no embarrassment 
or rusticity in his address, which, where it served his pur- 
pose, could be plausible, and even insinuating. The proof 
of it is the favorable impression made by him, on present- 
ing himself, after his second expedition — stranger as he 

35 was to all its forms and usages — at the punctilious court 
of Castile. 

Unlike many of his countrymen, he had no passion for 
35 



410 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxi. 

ostentatious dress, which he regarded as an encumbrance. 
The costume which he most affected on public occasions 
was a black cloak, with a white hat, and shoes £>f the 
same color; the last, it is said, being- in imitation of the 
5 Great Captain, whose character he had early learned to 
admire in Italy, but to which his own, certainly, bore very 
faint resemblance. 

He was temperate in eating, drank sparingly, and 
usually rose an hour before dawn. He was punctual in 

10 attendance to business, and shrank from no toil. He had, 
indeed, great powers of patient endurance. Like most of 
his nation, he was fond of play, and cared little for the 
quality of those with whom he played ; though, when his 
antagonist could not afford to lose, he would allow him- 

15 self, it is said, to be the loser; a mode of conferring an 
obligation much commended by a Castilian writer, for its 
delicacy. 

Though avaricious, it was in order to spend, and not to 
hoard. His ample treasures, more ample than those, prob- 

20 ably, that ever before fell to the lot of an adventurer, were 
mostly dissipated in his enterprises, his architectural works, 
and schemes of public improvement, which, in a country 
where gold and silver might be said to have lost their 
value from their abundance, absorbed an incredible amount 

25 of money. 

While he regarded the whole country, in a manner, as 
his own, and distributed it freely among his captains, it is 
certain that the princely grant of a territory with twenty 
thousand vassals, made to him by the crown, was never 

30 carried into effect; nor did his heirs ever reap the benefit 
of it. 

To a man possessed of the active energies of Pizarro, 
sloth was the greatest evil. The excitement of play 
was in a manner necessary to a spirit accustomed to the 

35 habitual stimulants of war and adventure. His unedu- 
cated mind had no relish for more refined, intellectual 
recreation. The deserted foundling had neither been 
taught to read nor write. This has been disputed by some, 
but it is so attested by unexceptionable authorities. 

40 Montesinos says, indeed, that Pizarro, on his first voy- 
age, tried to learn to read ; but the impatience of his 
temper prevented it, and he contented himself with learn- 
ing to sign his name. But Montesinos was not a contem- 
porary historian. Pedro Pizarro, his companion in arms, 



EX. CXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 411 

expressly tells us he could neither read nor write ; and 
Zarate, another contemporary, well acquainted with the 
conqueror, confirms this statement; and adds, 'that Pizarro 
could not so much as sign his name. This was done by 

5 his secretary — Picado in his latter years — while the 
governor merely made the customary rubrica, or flourish 
at the sides of his name. 

This is the case with the instruments I have examined, 
in which his signature, written probably by his secretary, 

10 or his title of Marques, in later life substituted for his 
name, is garnished with a flourish at the ends, executed 
in as bungling a manner as if done by the hand of a 
ploughman. Yet we must not estimate this deficiency as 
we should in this period of general illumination, — gen- 

15 eral, at least, in our own fortunate country. 

Reading and writing, so universal now, in the beginning 
of the sixteenth century might be regarded in the light 
of accomplishments ; and all who have occasion to consult 
the autograph memorials of that time will find the execution 

20 of them, even by persons of the highest rank, too often such 

as would do little credit to a school-boy of the present day. 

Though bold in action, and not easily turned from his 

purpose, Pizarro was slow in arriving at a decision. This 

gave him an appearance of irresolution foreign to his 

25 character. Perhaps the consciousness of this led him to 
adopt the custom of saying " No," at first, to applicants for 
favor ; and afterwards, at leisure, to revise his judgment, 
and grant what seemed to him expedient. 

He took the opposite course from his comrade, Almagro, 

30 who, it was observed, generally said " Yes," but too often 
failed to keep his promise. This was characteristic of the 
careless and easy nature of the latter, governed by impulse 
rather than principle. 

It is hardly necessary to speak of the courage of a man 

85 pledged to sach a career as that of Pizarro. Courage, 
indeed, was a cheap quality among the Spanish adven- 
turers, for danger was their element. But he possessed 
something higher than mere animal courage, in that con- 
stancy of purpose which was rooted too deeply in his na- 

40 ture to be shaken by the wildest storms of fortune. 

It was this inflexible constancy which formed the key 
to his character, and constituted the secret of his success. 
A remarkable evidence of it was given in his first expedi- 
tion, among the mangroves and dreary marshes of Choco. 



412 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxi. 

He saw his followers pining around him under the blight- 
ing malaria, wasting before an invisible enemy, and unable 
to strike a stroke in their own defence. Yet his spirit did 
not yield, nor did he falter in his enterprise. 
5 There is something oppressive to the imagination in 
this war against nature. In the struggle of man against 
man, the spirits are raised by a contest conducted on equal 
terms ; but in a war with the elements, we feel that, how- 
ever bravely we may contend, we can have no power to 

10 control. Nor are we cheered on by the prospect of glory 
in such a contest ; for, in the capricious estimate of human 
glory, the silent endurance of privations, however painful, 
is little, in comparison with the ostentatious trophies of 
victory. The laurel of the hero — alas for humanity that 

15 it should be so ! — grows best on the battle-field. 

This inflexible spirit of Pizarro was shown still more 
strongly, when, in the little island of Gallo, he drew 
the line on the sand which was to separate him and 
his handful of followers from their country and from civ- 

20 ilized man. He trusted that his own constancy would 
give strength to the feeble, and rally brave hearts around 
him for the prosecution of his enterprise. He looked with 
confidence to the future, and he did not miscalculate. 
This was heroic, and wanted only a nobler motive for its 

25 object to constitute the true moral sublime. 

Yet the same feature in his character was displayed in 
a manner scarcely less remarkable, when, landing on the 
coast and ascertaining the real strength and civilization of 
the Incas, he persisted in marching into the interior at the 

30 head of a force of less than two hundred men. In this he 
undoubtedly proposed to himself the example of Cortez, so 
contagious to the adventurous spirits of that day, and 
especially to Pizarro, engaged, as he was, in a similar 
enterprise. 

35 Yet, the hazard assumed by Pizarro was far greater 
than that of the conqueror of Mexico, whose force was 
nearly three times as large, while the terrors of the Inca 
name — however justified by the result — were as widely 
spread as those of the Aztecs. 

40 It was doubtless in imitation of the same captivating 
model that Pizarro planned the seizure of Atahuallpa. 
But the situations of the two Spanish captains were as 
dissimilar as the manner in which their acts of violence 
were conducted. The wanton massacre of the Peruvians 



EX. CXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 413 

resembled that perpetrated by Alvarado in Mexico, and 
might have been attended with consequences as disastrous, 
if the Peruvian character had been as fierce as that of the 
Aztecs. But the blow which roused the latter to madness 
5 broke the tamer spirits of the Peruvians. It was a bold 
stroke, which left so much to chance that it scarcely merits 
the name of policy. 

When Pizarro landed in the country he found it dis- 
tracted by a contest for the crown. It would seem to have 

10 been for his interest to play off one party against the other, 
throwing his own weight into the scale that suited him. 
Instead of this, he resorted to an act of audacious violence 
which crushed them both at a blow. 

His subsequent career afforded no scope for the profound 

15 policy displayed by Cortez, when he gathered conflicting 
nations under his banner, and directed them against a 
common foe. Still less did he have the opportunity of 
displaying the tactics and admirable strategy of his rival. 
Cortez conducted his military operations on the scientific 

20 principles of a great captain at the head of a powerful host. 
Pizarro appears only as an adventurer, — a fortunate 
knight-errant. 

By one bold stroke he broke the spell which had so long 
held the land under the dominion of the Incas. The spell 

25 was broken, and the airy fabric of thei^ empire, built on 
the superstition of ages, vanished at a touch. This was 
good fortune, rather than the result of policy. 

Pizarro was eminently perfidious. Yet nothing is more 
opposed to sound policy. One act of perfidy, fully estab- 

30 lished, becomes the ruin of its author. The man who re- 
linquishes confidence in his good faith gives up the best 
basis for future operations. Who will knowingly build on 
a quicksand? By his perfidious treatment of Almagro, 
Pizarro alienated the minds of the Spaniards. By his 

35 perfidious treatment of Atahuallpa, and subsequently of 
the Inca Manco, he disgusted the Peruvians. 

The name of Pizarro became a by-word for perfidy. 
Almagro took his revenge in a civil war ; Manco, in an in- 
surrection which nearly cost Pizarro his dominion. The 

40 civil w^ar terminated in a conspiracy w^hich cost him his 
life. Such were the fruits of his policy. Pizarro may be 
regarded as a cunning man ; but not, as he has been often 
eulogized by his countrymen, as a politic one. 

When Pizarro obtained possession of Cuzco, he found a 
35^ 



414 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxi. 

country well advanced in the arts of civilization ; institu- 
tions under which the people lived in tranquillity and per- 
sonal safety; the mountains and the uplands whitened 
with flocks ; the valleys teeming with the fruits of a sci- 
5 entific husbandry ; the granaries and warehouses filled to 
overflowing; the whole land rejoicing in its abundance; 
and the character of the nation, softened under the influ- 
ence of the mildest and most innocent form of superstition, 
well prepared for the reception of a higher and a Christian 

10 civilization. 

But far from introducing this, Pizarro delivered up the 
conquered races to his brutal soldiery ; the sacred cloisters 
were abandoned to their lust ; the towns and villages were 
given up to pillage ; the wretched natives were parcelled 

15 out like slaves, to toil for their conquerors in the mines ; 
the flocks were scattered, and wantonly destroyed ; the 
granaries were dissipated ; the beautiful contrivances for 
the more perfect culture of the soil were suflfered to fall 
into decay ; the paradise was converted into a desert. 

20 Instead of profiting by the ancient forms of civilization, 
Pizarro preferred to efface every vestige of them from the 
land, and on their ruin to erect the institutions of his own 
country. Yet these institutions did little for the poor 
Indian, held in iron bondage. It was little to him that the 

25 shores of the Pacific were studded with rising communities 
and cities, t^e marts of a flourishing commerce. He had 
no share in the goodly heritage. He was an alien in the 
land of his fathers. 

The religion of the Peruvian, which directed him to 

30 the worship of that glorious luminary which is the best 
representative of the might and beneficence of the Creator, 
is perhaps the purest form of superstition that has existed 
among men. Yet it was much, that, under the new order 
of things, and through the benevolent zeal of the mission- 

35 aries, some glimmerings of a nobler faith were permitted 
to dawn on his darkened soul. 

Pizarro himself cannot be charged with manifesting any 
overweening solicitude for the propagation of the Faith. 
He was no bigot, like Cortez. Bigotry is the perversion 

40 of the religious principle ; but the principle itself was 
wanting in Pizarro. The conversion of the heathen was a 
predominant motive with Cortez in his expedition. It was 
not a vain boast. He would have sacrificed his life for it 
at any time ; and more than once, by his indiscreet zeal, 



EX. CXI.] RHETORICAL READING. 415 

he actually did place his life and the success of his enter- 
prise in jeopardy. 

It was his great purpose to purify the land from the 
brutish abominations of the Aztecs, by substituting the reli- 
5 gion of Jesus. This gave to his expedition the character 
of a crusade. It furnished the best apology for the con- 
quest, and does more than all other considerations towards 
enlisting our sympathies on the side of the conquerors. 
But Pizarro's ruling motives, so far as they can be 

10 scanned by human judgment, were avarice and ambition. 
The good missionaries, indeed, followed in his train to 
scatter the seeds of spiritual truth, and the Spanish gov- 
ernment, as usual, directed its beneficent legislation to the 
conversion of their natives. 

15 But the moving power with Pizarro and his followers 
was the lust of gold. This was the real stimulus to their 
toil, — the price of perfidy, — the true guerdon of their 
victories. This gave a base and mercenary character to 
their enterprise ; and when we contrast the ferocious 

20 cupidity of the conquerors with the mild and inotTensive 
manners of the conquered, our sympathies, the sympathies 
even of the Spaniard, are necessarily thrown into the 
scale of the Indian. 

But as no picture is without its lights, we must not, in 

25 justice to Pizarro, dwell exclusively on the darker features 
of his portrait. There was no one of. her sons to whom 
Spain was under larger obligations for extent of empire ; 
for his hand won for her the richest of the Indian jewels 
that once sparkled in her imperial diadem. 

30 When we contemplate the perils he braved, the suffer- 
ings he patiently endured, the incredible obstacles he over- 
came, the magnificent results he effected with his single 
arm, as it were, unaided by the government, — though 
neither a good nor a great man, in the highest sense of 

35 the term, — it is impossible not to regard him as a very 
extraordinary one. 

Nor can we fairly omit to notice, in extenuation of his 
errors, the circumstances of his early life ; for, like Alma- 
gro, he was the son of sin and sorrow, early cast upon the 

40 world to seek his fortunes as he might. In his young and 
tender age he was to take the impression of those into 
whose society he was thrown. And when was it the lot 
of the needy outcast to fall into that of the wise and the 
virtuous ? His lot was cast among the licentious inmates 



416 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxii. 

of a camp, the school of rapine, whose only law was the 
sword, and who looked on the wretched Indian and his 
heritage as their rightful spoil. 

Who does not shudder at the thought of what his own 
5 fate might have been, trained in such a school? The 
amount of crime does not necessarily show the criminality 
of the agent. History, indeed, is concerned with the 
former, that it may be recorded as a warning to man- 
kind ; but it is He alone who knoweth the heart, the 
10 strength of the temptation, and the means of resisting it, 
that can determine the measure of the guilt. 

W. H. Prescott. 



EXERCISE CXII. 
Virtuous Love. 

But happy they — the happiest of their kind — 
Whom gentler stars unite, and in one fate 
Their hearts, their fortunes, and their beings blend ! 
'T is not the coarser tie of human laws. 
Unnatural oft, and foreign to the mind. 
That binds their peace, but harmony itself, 
Attuning all their passions into love ; 
Where friendship full exerts her softest power, 
Perfect esteem enlivened by desire 
InefTable, and sympathy of soul ; 
Thought meeting thought, and will preventing will, 
With boundless confidence : for nought but love 
Can answer love, and render" bliss secure. 

Let him, ungenerous, who, alone intent 
To bless himself, from sordid parents buys 
The loathing virgin, in eternal care. 
Well merited, consume his nights and days : 
Let barbarous nations, whose inhuman love 
Is wild desire, fierce as the suns they feel ; 
Let eastern tyrants from the light of heaven 
Seclude their bosom-slaves, meanly possessed 
Of a mere lifeless, violated form ; 
While those whom love cements in holy faith, 
And equal transport, free as Nature live, 
Disdaining fear. 

What is the world to them, 
Its pomp, its pleasure, and its nonsense aU, 



EX. CXIl.] KHETORICAL READING. 417 

Who in each other clasp whatever fair 
High fancy forms, and lavish hearts can wish ? 
Something than beauty dearer, should they look 
Or on the mind or mind-illumined face ; 
5 Truth, goodness, honor, harmony, and love, 
The richest bounty of indulgent Heaven. 

Meantime a smiling offspring rises round, 
And mingles both their graces. By degrees. 
The human blossom blows ; and every day, 

10 Soft as it rolls along, shows some new charm, 
The father's lustre, and the mother's bloom. 
Then infant reason grows apace, and calls 
For the kind hand of an assiduous care. 

Delightful task ! to rear the tender thought, 

15 To teach the young idea how to shoot, 

To pour the fresh instruction o'er the mind, 
To breathe the enlivening spirit, and to fix 
The generous purpose in the glowing breast ! 
O, speak the joy ! ye whom the sudden tear 

20 Surprises often, while you look around, 

And nothing strikes your eye but sights of bliss, 
All various Nature pressing on the heart : 
An elegant sufficiency, content, 
Eetirement, rural quiet, friendship, books, 

25 Ease and alternate labor, useful life. 

Progressive virtue, and approving Heaven ! 

These are the matchless joys of virtuous love. 
And thus their moments fly. The seasons thus, 
As ceaseless round a jarring world they roll, 

30 Still find them happy ; and consenting Spring 
Sheds her own rosy garland on their heads : 
Till evening comes at last, serene and mild ; 
When, after the long vernal day of life, 
Enamored more, as more remembrance swells 

35 With many a proof of recollected love, 
Together down they sink in social sleep. 
Together freed, their gentle spirits fly 
To scenes where love and bliss immortal reign. 

Thomson. 



418 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxiii. 

EXERCISE CXIII. 

Extract from the Preface of a Work entitled " The Wis- 
dom and Genius of Shakspeare.''^ 

The lucid pages of Shakspeare have been justly charac- 
terized " the richest, the purest, the fairest, which genius 
uninspired ever laid open." His morals are numerous and 
of an exalted character ; and more moral knowledge is 

5 contained in a few lines, or a sentence of our author, than 
is to be found in a whole chapter of those works which 
treat expressly of moral science. There is one thing 
worthy of special observation in his morals, which presents 
his character in a very interesting light; I refer to the 

10 strong tincture which they have of divine truth, affording 
evidence of his mind having been deeply imbued with the 
pure morality of the Gospel. 

This highly interesting feature of his morals I have 
pointed out in many instances, by references to particular 

15 passages of scripture. Although the first part of the 
work is designated Moral Philosophy, the reader must not 
infer from thence that there are no morals in the other 
sections : the truth is, morals pervade the whole work, but 
many of them are so interwoven with the characters, nature, 

20 and the passions, &c., as not to admit of being separated. 

Our author's paintings of the passions are not less 

deserving of our admiration than his moral wisdom and 

delineations of character. He is the great master of the 

• human heart, and depicts in an inimitable manner all the 

25 feelings of humanity, from the almost imperceptible emo- 
tions to the most tempestuous passions that agitate the 
breast of man. As Schlegel justly observes, " he lays open 
to us in a single word a whole series of preceding condi- 
tions." 

30 In that part of the work which respects Nature, I have 
exhibited to the reader those exquisitely beautiful natural 
images which abound throughout our author's writings, 
and which claim the admiration of every cultivated mind. 
This excellence has been often alluded to, and is thus 

85 beautifully expressed by one who was capable of appreciat- 
ing it — 

" He was familiar with all beautiful forms and images, 
with all that is sweet or majestic in the simple aspects of 
nature, — of that indestructible love of flowers and odors, 

40 and dews and clear waters, and soft airs and sounds, and 



EX. CXIII.] RHETORICAL READING. 419 

bright skies and woodland solitudes, and moonlight bowers, 
which are the material elements of poetry, — and with 
that fine sense of their undefinable relation to mental 
emotion which is its essence and vivifying soul, and which, 
5 in the midst of his most busy and atrocious scenes, falls 
like gleams of sunshine on rocks and ruins, contrasting 
with all that is rugged and repulsive, and reminding us of 
the existence of purer and brighter elements." 

Take also the sentiments of the following writers who 

10 speak in accordance with this work : — "To instruct by 
delighting is a power seldom enjoyed by man, and still 
seldomer exercised. It is in this respect that Homer may 
be called the second of men, and Shakspeare the first. 
The wisdom of the Greek was not so universal as that of 

15 the Briton, nor his genius so omnipotent in setting it forth 
attractively. From the several works of the latter, a single 
work might be compiled little less wort?iy of divine sanction 
than any other extant, and by the beauty of its nature far 
more secure of human attention. 

20 " But Shakspeare has done so much in this way — so 
nearly all that is sufficient, — he has made the laws of the 
decalogue, and all their corollaries, so familiar, — he has 
exhibited the passions and propensities, the feelings and 
emotions, incident to humanity, so freely, and, as we might 

25 say, graphically, that another such artist would be super- 
fluous. Nature might create a second Shakspeare, but it 
would be bad economy. What the first has left undone, 
may be completed by a much less expense of Promethean 
fire than would go to the creation of a second. 

30 " We are therefore not to look for a similar being, at least 
until we acquire new attributes, or are under a new moral 
dispensation. Spirits of an inferior order, — a Milton, a 
Pope, or a Cow^per, — are potent enough to disseminate 
the remaining or minor truths of natural morality amongst 

35 the people ; or rather, to repeat, illustrate, and impress 
them on our hearts and memories. 

" Writers of this class, whom we may call the lay-minis- 
ters of the deity, to teach from the press instead of the 
pulpit, in the closet instead of the church, we may 

40 expect ; and with them should be satisfied. Though we 
cannot reasonably hope for another high prophet of profane 
inspiration to recommunicate to us the lessons of divine 
wisdom which are already to be found in Shakspeare, it is 
no presumption to hope that the spirit of illumination will 



420 Parker's exercises ih [ex, cxiii. 

descend upon humbler poets, and make them our secular 
guides in morality." 

The same sentiments, with respect to Shakspeare's writ- 
ings, are thus expressed by another author: — "It is quite 
5 impossible to estimate the benefit which this country has 
received from the eternal productions of Shakspeare. 
Their influence has been gradual, but prodigious, — oper- 
ating at first on the loftier intellects, but becoming in time 
diffused over all, spreading wisdom and charity amongst 

10 us. There is, perhaps, no one person of any considerable 
rate of mind who does not owe something to this matchless 
poet, 

" He is the teacher of all good, — pity, generosity, true 
courage, love. His works alone (leaving mere science out 

15 of the question) contain, probably, more actual wisdom than 
the whole body of English learning. He is the text for 
the moralist and the philosopher. His bright wit is cut 
out ' into little stars ; ' his solid masses of knowledge are 
meted out in morsels and proverbs ; and thus distributed, 

20 there is scarcely a corner which he does not illuminate, or 
a cottage which he does not enrich. His bounty is like the 
sea, which, though often unacknowledged, is everywhere 
felt — on mountains and plains, and distant places, carry- 
ing its cloudy freshness through the air, making glorious 

25 the heavens, and spreading verdure on the earth beneath." 

It is with infinite satisfaction that I am borne out in my 

opinion of the nature of this work by a similar remark of 

Coleridge. " I greatly dislike beauties and selections in 

general ; but as proof positive of his unrivalled excellence, 

30 I should like to try Shakspeare by this criterion. Make 
out your amplest catalogue of all the human faculties, as 
reason, or the moral law, the will, the feeling of the co- 
incidence of the two called the conscience, the under- 
standing, or prudence, wit, fancy, imagination, judgment, 

35 — and then of the objects on which these are to be em- 
ployed, as the beauties, the terrors, and the seeming ca- 
prices, of nature, the realities and the capabilities — that is, 
the actual and the ideal — of the human mind, conceived 
as an individual or as a social being, as in innocence or in 

4-0 guilt, in a play-paradise or in a war-field of temptation, — 
and then compare with Shakspeare, under each of these 
heads, all or any of the writers in prose and verse that 
have ever lived. Who that is competent to judge doubts 
the result ? " — Rev. Thomas Price. 



EX. CXlV.j RHETORICAL READING. 421 

EXERCISE CXIV. 
The Chameleon. 

Oft has it been my lot to mark 

A proud, conceited, talking spark 

Eeturning from his finished tour, 

Grown ten times perter than before : 
5 Whatever word you chance to drop, 

The travelled fool your mouth will stop — 

" Sir, if my judgment you '11 allow — 

I've seen — and sure I ought to know." — 

So begs you 'd pay a due submission, 
10 And acquiesce in his decision. 

Two travellers of such a cast, 

As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed, 

And on their way, in friendly chat. 

Now talked of this, and then of that, 
15 Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter, 

Of the chameleon's form and nature. 

"A stranger animal," cries one, 

" Sure never lived beneath the sun : 

A lizard's body, lean and long, 
20 A fish's head, a serpent's tongue. 

Its tooth with triple claw disjoined ; 

And what a length of tail behind ! 

How slow its pace ! and then its hue — 

Who ever saw so fine a blue ! " 
25 '" Hold, there ! " the other quick replies; 

" 'T is green ; I saw it with these eyes. 

As late with open mouth it lay. 

And warmed it in the sunny ray ; 

Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, 
30 And saw it eat the air for food." 

" I 've seen it, sir, as well as you. 

And must again affirm it blue. 

At leisure I the beast surveyed. 

Extended in the cooling shade." 
35 '"T is green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye." — 

" Green ? " cries the other, in a iwxy ; 

" Why, sir, d' ye think I 've lost my eyes ? " — 

" 'Tvvere no great loss," the friend replies ; 

" For if they always use you thus, 
40 You '11 find them but of little use." 
36 



422 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxt. 

So high at last the contest rose, 

From words they almost came to blows : 

When luckily came by a third : 

To him the question they referred ; 
5 And begged he 'd tell them, if he knew, 

Whether the thing was green or blue. 

" Sirs," cries the umpire, " cease your pother, 

The creature 's neither one nor t' other. 

I caught the animal last night, 
10 And viewed it o'er by candle-light : 

I marked it well — 't was black as jet — 

You stare — but, sirs, I 've got it yet, 

And can produce it." — " Pray, sir, do ; 

I '11 lay my life the thing is blue." — 
15 "And I '11 be sworn, that when you 've seen 

The reptile, you '11 pronounce him green." — 

"Well then, at once to end the doubt," 

Replies the man, " I '11 turn him out ; 

And when before your eyes I 've set him, 
20 If you don't find him black, I '11 eat him," 

He said : then full before their sight 

Produced the beast; and lo ! 't was white. 

Both stared ; the man looked wondrous wise. 

" My children," the chameleon cries, 
25 (Then first the creature found a tongue,) 

" You all are right, and all are wrong. 

When next you talk of what you view, 

Think others see as well as you, 

Nor wonder if you find that none 
30 Prefers your eyesight to his own." Merrick. 



EXERCISE CXV. 

Dominie Sampson's Encounter with Meg Merrilies. 

Upon the next day at breakfast, however, the Dominie 
did' not make his appearance. He had walked out, a ser- 
vant said, early in the morning. It was so common for 
him to forget his meals that his absence never deranged 
35 the family. The housekeeper, a decent old-fashioned Pres- 
byterian matron, having, as such, the highest respect for 
Sampson's theological acquisitions, had it in charge upon 
these occasions to take care that he was no sufTerer by his 



EX. CXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 423 

absence of mind, and therefore usually waylaid him upon 
his return, to remind him of his sublunary wants, and to 
minister for their relief. It seldom, however, happened 
that he was absent from two meals together, as was the 
5 case in the present instance. We must explain the cause 
of this unusual occurrence. 

The conversation which Mr. Pleydell had held with 
Mannering upon the subject of the loss of Harry Bertram 
had awakened all the painful sensations which that event 

10 had inflicted upon Sampson. The affectionate heart of the 
poor dominie had always reproached him, that his negli- 
gence in leaving the child in the care of Frank Kennedy 
had been the proximate cause of the murder of the one, 
the loss of the other, the death of Mrs. Bertram, and the 

15 ruin of the family of his patron. It was a subject which 
he never spoke upon, if indeed his mode of conversation 
could be called speaking at any time ; but which was often 
present to his imagination. 

The sort of hope so strongly affirmed and asserted in 

20 Mrs. Bertram's last settlement had excited a corresponding 
feeling in the dominie's bosom, which was exasperated into 
a sort of sickening anxiety by the discredit with which 
Pleydell had treated it. "Assuredly," thought Sampson 
to himself, "he is a man of erudition, and well skilled in 

25 the weighty matters of the law ; but he is .also a man of 
humorous levity and inconstancy of speech ; and wherefore 
should he pronounce ex cathedra^ as it were, on the hope 
expressed by worthy Madam Margaret Bertram of Single- 
side ? " 

30 All this, I say, the dominie thought to himself; for had 
he uttered half the sentence his jaws would have ached 
for a month under the unusual fatigue of such a continued 
exertion. The result of these cogitations was a resolution 
to go and visit the scene of the tragedy at Warroch Point, 

35 where he had not been for many years — not, indeed, 
since the fatal accident had happened. The walk was a 
long one, for the Point of Warroch lay on the further side 
of the Ellangowan property, which was interposed between 
it and Woodbourne. Besides, the dominie went astray 

40 more than once, and met with brooks swollen into torrents 
by the melting of the snow^ where he, honest man, had 
only the summer recollection of little trickling rills. 

At length, however, he reached the woods which he had 
made the object of his walk, and traversed them with care, 



424 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxv. 

muddling his disturbed brains with vague efforts to recall 
every circumstance of the catastrophe. It will readily be 
supposed that the influence of local situation and associa- 
tion was inadequate to produce conclusions different from 
5 those which he had formed under the immediate pressure 
of the occurrences themselves. With "many a weary 
sigh, therefore, and many a groan," the poor dominie re- 
turned from his hopeless pilgrimage, and wearily plodded 
his way towards Woodbourne, debating at times in his 

10 altered mind a question which was forced upon him by 
the cravings of an appetite rather of the keenest, namely, 
whether he had breakfasted that morning or no. 

It was in this twilight humor, — now thinking of the 
loss of the child, then involuntarily compelled to meditate 

15 upon the somewhat incongruous subject of hung-beef, rolls 
and butter, — that his route, which was different from that 
which he had taken in the morning, conducted him past 
the small ruined tower, or rather vestige of a tower, called 
by the country people the Kaim of Derncleugh. 

20 The reader may recollect the description of this ruin as 
the vault in which young Bertram, under the auspices of 
Meg Merrilies, witnessed the death of Hatteraick's lieu- 
tenant. The tradition of the country added ghostly ter- 
rors to the natural awe inspired by the situation of this 

25 place, which terrors the gypsies who so long inhabited the 
vicinity had probably invented, or at least propagated, for 
their own advantage. 

M, JI^ M, J^ M, M, 

■TV* VV* •W' 'TV* W •TV' 

The lights, often seen around the tower when used as 
the rendezvous of the lawless characters by whom it was 

30 occasionally frequented, were accounted for, under author- 
ity of these tales of witchery, in a manner at once con 
venient for the private parties concerned, and satisfactory 
to the public. 

Now it must be confessed that our friend Sampson, 

35 although a profound scholar and mathematician, had not 
travelled so far in philosophy as to doubt the reality of 
witchcraft or apparitions. Born indeed at a time when a 
doubt in the existence of witches was interpreted to be a 
justification of their infernal practices, a belief of such 

40 legends had been impressed upon him as an article indi- 
visible from his religious faith, and perhaps it would have 
been equally difficult to have induced him to doubt the 
one as the other. With these feelings, and in a thick 



EX. CXV.j RHETORICAL READING. 425 

misty day, which was already drawing to its close, Domi- 
nie Sampson did not pass the Kaim of Derncleugh without 
some feelings of tacit horror. 

What, then, was his astonishment when, on passing the 
5 door — that door which was supposed to have been placed 
there by one of the latter lairds of Ellangowan to prevent 
presumptuous strangers from incurring the dangers of the 
haunted vault — that very door supposed to be always 
locked, and the key of which was popularly said to be 

10 deposited with the presbytery — that very door opened 
suddenly, and the figure of Meg Merrilies, well known, 
though not seen for many a revolving year, was placed at 
once before the eyes of the startled dominie. 

She stood immediately before him in the foot-path, con- 

15 fronting him so absolutely that he could not avoid her 
except by fairly turning back, which his manhood prevent- 
ed him from thinking of. " I kenned ye wad be here," 
she said, with her harsh and hollow voice, '* I ken wha 
ye seek ; but ye maun do my bidding." 

20 " Get thee behind me ! " said the alarmed dominie — 
"Avoid ye ! — Conjuro te, scelestissima — nequissima — 
spurcissima — iniquissima — atque miserrima — conjuro 
te I ! ! " Meg stood her ground against this tremen- 
dous volley of superlatives, which Sampson hawked up 

25 from the pit of his stomach, and hurled at her in thunder. 
" Is the carl daft," she said, " wi' his glamor ? " 

^'■Conjuro,'" continued the dominie, ^^ adjuro, contestor, 

atque viriliter impero tibi ! " " What, in the name 

of Sathan, are ye feared for, wi' your French gibberish, 

30 that would make a dog sick ? Listen, ye stickit stibler, to 
what I tell ye, or ye sail rue it whiles there 's a limb o' ye 
hings to anither ! Tell Colonel Mannering that I ken he 's 
seeking me. He kens, and I ken, that the blood will be 
wiped out, and the lost will be found, 

35 And Bertram's right and Bertram's might 

Shall meet on Ellangowan height. 

Hae, there 's a letter to him ; I was gaun to send it in 
another way. I canna write mysell ; but 1 hae them that 
will baith write and read, and ride and rin for me. Tell 
40 him the time 's coming now, and the weird 's dree'd and 
the wheel 's turning. Bid him look at the stars as he has 
looked at them before ; will ye mind a' this ? " 

"Assuredly," said the dominie, " I am dubious — for, 
36=^ 



426 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxv. 

woman, I am perturbed at thy words, and my flesh quakes 
to hear thee." — "They'll do you nae ill, though, and 
maybe muckle gude." — "Avoid ye! I desire nae good 
that comes by unlawfu' means." 
5 " Fule-body that thou art I " said Meg, stepping up to 
him with a frown of indignation that made her dark eyes 
flash like lamps from under her bent brows — " Fule-body \ 
if I meant ye wrang, could na I clod ye ower that craig, 
and wad man ken how ye cam by your end mair than 

10 Frank Kennedy ? Hear "ye that, ye worricow?" 

" In the name of all that is good," said the dominie, re- 
coiling and pointing his long pewter-headed walking-cane 
like a javelin at the supposed sorceress, " in the name of 
all that is good, bide off hands ! I will not be handled — 

15 woman, stand off upon thine own proper peril ! — desist, 1 
say — I am strong — lo, I will resist! " Here his speech 
was cut short, for Meg, armed with supernatural strength, 
(as the dominie asserted,) broke in upon his guard, put by 
a thrust which he made at her with his cane, and lifted 

20 him into the vault, " as easily," said he, " as I could sway 
a Kitchen's atlas." 

" Sit doun there," she said, pushing the half- throttled 
preacher with some violence against a broken chair, "sit 
doun there, and gather your wind and your senses, . ye 

25 black barrow-tram o' the kirk that ye are — are ye fou or 
fasting ? " 

"Fasting from all but sin," answered the dominie, who, 
recovering his voice, and finding his exorcisms only served 
to exasperate the intractable sorceress, thought it best to 

30 affect complaisance and submission, inwardly conning over, 
however, the wholesome conjurations which he durst no 
longer utter aloud. But as the dominie's brain was by no 
means equal to carry on two trains of ideas at the same 
time, a word or two of his mental exercise sometimes es- 

35 caped, and mingled with his uttered speech in a manner 
ludicrous enough, especially as the poor man shrunk him- 
self together after every escape of the kind, from terror of 
the effect it might produce upon the irritable feelings of 
the witch. 

40 Meg, in the mean while, went to a great black cauldron 
that was boiling on a fire on the floor, and lifting the lid, 
an odor was diffused through the vault, which, if the vapors 
of a witch's cauldron could in aught be trusted, promised 
better things than the hell-broth which such vessels are 



EX. CXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 427 

usually supposed to contain. It was in fact the savor of a 
goodly stew, composed of fowls, hares, partridges, and 
moor-game, boiled in a large mess with potatoes, onions 
and leeks, and, from the size of the cauldron, appeared to 
5 be prepared for half a dozen of people at least. " So ye 
hae eat naething a' day ? " said Meg, heaving a large por- 
tion of this mess into a brown dish, and strewing it savor- 
ily with salt and pepper. 

"Naething," answered the dominie, — '-^ scelestissima I — 

10 that is, gudewife." — " Hae, then," said she, placing the dish 
before him; " there 's what will warm your heart." — "I 
do not hunger — malejica — that is to say, Mrs. Merrilies ; " 
for he said unto himself, " the savor is sweet, but it hath 
been cooked by a Canidia or an Ericthoe." 

15 " If ye dinna eat instantly, and put some saul in ye, by the 
bread and the salt, I '11 put it douii your throat wi' the cutty 
spoon, scauding as it is, and whether ye will or no. Gape, 
sinner, and swallow ! " Sampson, afraid of eye of newt, 
and toe of frog, tiger's chaudrons, and so forth, had deter- 

20 mined not to venture ; but the smell of the stew was fast 

melting his obstinacy, which flowed from his chops as it 

were in streams of water, and the witch's threats decided 

him to feed. Hunger and fear are excellent casuists. 

" Saul," said Hunger, "feasted with the witch of Endor." 

25 " And," quoth Fear, " the salt which she sprinkled upon 
the food showeth plainly it is not a necromantic banquet, 
in which that seasoning never occurs." — " And besides," 
says Hunger, after the first spoonful, " it is savory and 
refreshing viands." 

30 " So ye like the meat ? " said the hostess. — " Yea," 
answered the dominie, " and I give thee thanks — scelera- 
tissima.! — which means Mrs. Margaret." — " Aweel, eat 
your fill ; but an ye kenn'd how it was gotten, ye maybe 
wadna like it sae weel." — Sampson's spoon dropped, in the 

35 act of conveying its load to his mouth. — " There 'e been 
mony a moonlight watch to bring a' that trade thegither ; 
the folk that are to eat that dinner thought* little o' your 
game-laws." 

"Is that all?" thought Sampson, resuming his spoon, 

40 and shovelling away manfully ; " I will not lack my food 
upon that argument." — " Now ye maun tak a dram." 
" I will," quoth Sampson — " conjuro te — that is, I thank 
you heartily; " for, he thought to himself, in for a penny 
in for a pound, and he fairly drank the witch's health in a 



428 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxv. 

cupful of brandy. When he had put this cope-stone upon 
Meg's good cheer, he felt, as he said, " mightily elevated, 
and afraid of no evil which could befall unto him." 

" Will ye remember my errand now ? " said Meg Merri- 
5 lies ; " I ken by the cast o' your e'e that ye 're anither man 
than when you cam in." — "I will, Mrs. Margaret," re- 
peated Sampson, stoutly ; " I will deliver unto him the 
sealed yepistle, and will add what you please to send by 
word of mouth." 
10 " Then I '11 make it short," says Meg. " Tell him to 
look at the stars without fail this night, and to do what I 
desire him in that letter, as he would wish 

That Bertram's right and Bertram's might 
Should meet on EUangowan height. 

15 I have seen him twice when he saw na me ; I ken when 
he was in this country first, and 1 ken what 's brought him 
back again. Up, and to the gate ! ye 're ower lang here ; 
follow me." 

Sampson followed the sybil accordingly, who guided him 

20 about a quarter of a mile through the woods, by a shorter 
cut than he could have found for himself; they then en- 
tered upon the common, Meg still marching before him at 
a great pace, until she gained the top of a small hillock 
which overhung the road. 

25 " Here," she said, " stand still here. Look how the set- 
ting sun breaks through yon cloud that 's been darkening 
the lift a' day. See where the first stream o' light fa's ; 
it 's upon Donagild's round tower — the auldest tower in 
the castle of EUangowan, — that 's no for naething. See 

80 as it 's glooming to seaward abune yon sloop in the bay, — 
that 's no for naething neither. 

" Here I stood, on this very spot," said she, drawing 
herself up so as not to lose one hair-breadth of her uncom- 
mon height, and stretching out her long sinewy arm and 

35 clenched. hand — " here I stood, when I tauld the last Laird 
of EUangowan what was coming on his house ; and did 
that fa' to the ground ? — na ! it hit even ower sair ! And 
here, where I brake the wand of peace ower him — here I 
stand again, to bid God bless and prosper the just heir of 

40 EUangowan, that will sune be brought to his ain ; and the 
best laird he shall be that EUangowan has seen for three 
hundred years. I '11 no live to see it, maybe ; but there 
will be mony a blithe e'e see it, though mmo be closed. 



EX. CXV.] RHETORICAL READING. 429 

And now, Abel Sampson, as ever ye lo'ed the house of 
Ellangowan, away wi' my message to the English colonel, 
as if life and death were upon your haste ! " 

So saying, she turned suddenly from the amazed domi- 
5 nie, and regained with swift and long strides the shelter 
of the wood from which she had issued at the point where 
it most encroached upon the common. Sampson gazed 
after her for a moment in utter astonishment, and then 
obeyed her directions, hurrying to Woodbourne at a pace 

10 very unusual for him, exclaiming three times, " Prodigious ! 
prodigious ! pro-di-gi-ous ! " 

As Mr. Sampson crossed the hall with a bewildered 
look, the good housekeeper, who was on the watch for his 
return, sallied forth upon him : — "What 's this o't now, 

15 Mr. Sampson ? — this is waur than ever ; ye '11 really do 
yoursell some injury wi' these lang fasts, — naething sae 
hurtful to the stomach, Mr. Sampson. If you would but 
put some peppermint draps in your pocket, or let Barnes cut 
you a sandwich." 

20 " Avoid thee ! " quoth the dominie, his mind running 
still upon his interview with Meg Merrilies, and making 
for the dining-parlor. — " Na, ye need na gang in there ; 
the cloth 's been removed an hour ago, and the colonel 's at 
his wine ; but just step into my room; I have a nice steak 

25 that the cook will do in a moment." — " Exorciso te ! " said 
Sampson, — " that is, I have dined." 

" Dined ! it 's impossible I Wha can ye hae dined wi', 
you that gangs out nae gate ? " — " With Beelzebub, I be- 
lieve," said the minister. — " Na, then he 's bewitched for 

30 certain," said the housekeeper, letting go her hold ; " he 's 
bewitched or he 's daft, and ony way the colonel maun 
just guide him his ain gate. Waes me ! Hech, sirs ! It 's 
a sair thing to see learning bring folk to this I " and with 
this compassionate ejaculation, she retreated into her own 

35 prem.ises. 

The object of her commiseration had by this time en- 
tered the dining-parlor, where his appearance gave great 
surprise. He was mud up to the shoulders, and the natural 
paleness of his hue was twice as cadaverous as usual, 

40 through terror, fatigue, and perturbation of mind. " What 
on earth is the meaning of this, Mr. Sampson ? " said 
Mannering, who observed Miss Bertram looked much 
alarmed for her simple but attached friend. 

" Exorciso — " said the dominie. — " How, sir ? " — "I 



430 Parker's exercises in [ex. cxv. 

crave pardon, honorable sir ! but my wits " — " Are 

gone a wool-gathering, I think. Pray, Mr. Sampson, col- 
'lect yourself, and let me know the meaning of all this." 
Sampson was about to reply; but finding his Latin 
5 formula of exorcism still came most readily to his tongue, 
he prudently desisted from the attempt, and put the scrap 
of paper which he had received from the gypsy into Man- 
nering's hand, who broke the seal and read it with surprise. 
" This seems to be some jest," he said, " and a very dull 

10 one." 

" It came from no jesting person," said Mr. Sampson. — 
" From whom, then, did it come ? " — The dominie, who 
often displayed some delicacy of recollection in cases where 
Miss Bertram had an interest, recollected the painful cir- 

15 cumstances connected with Meg Merrilies, looked at the 

. young ladies, and remained silent. " We will join you at 

the tea-table in an instant, Julia ; I see that Mr. Sampson 

wishes to speak to me alone. — And now they are gone, 

what, in Heaven's name, is the meaning of this ? " 

20 " It may be a message from heaven," said the dominie, 
" but it came by Beelzebub's postmistress. It was that 
witch, Meg Merrilies, who should have been burned with 
a tar-barrel twenty years since, for a harlot, thief, witch, 
and gypsy." — "Are you sure it was she?" said the colonel, 

25 with great interest. — " Sure, honored sir ? the like o' Meg 
Merrilies is not to be seen in any land." 

The colonel paced the room rapidly, cogitating with 
himself. " To send out to apprehend her — but it is too 
distant to send to MacMorlan, and Sir Eobert Hazlewood 

30 is a pompous coxcomb; besides, the chance of not finding 
her upon the spot, and the humor of silence that seized her 
before may again return ; — no, I will not, to save being 
thought a fool, neglect the course she points out. 

" Many of her class set out by being impostors, and 

35 end by being enthusiasts, or hold a kind of darkling conduct 
between both lines, unconscious almost when they are 
cheating themselves or w-hen imposing on others. — Well, 
my course is a plain one, at any rate ; and if my eflx)rts are 
fruitless, it shall not be owing to over-jealousy of my own 

40 character for wisdom." With this he rung the bell, and 
ordering Barnes into his private sitting-room, gave him 
some orders, with the result of which the reader may be 
made hereafter acquainted. — Sir Walter Scott. 



INDEX. 

INTRODUCTORY LESSONS. 



/>. 






."% 


1. 


The Period, . 




2. 


The Interrogation Point or 


duestion, 


26 


3 


" cont'd, 27 


4 


i(- II 11 




" 27 


5 


II II II 


" 


" 28 


6. 


II IS II 


II 


" 29 


?. 


The Exclamation Point, 




30 


X. 


The Period, Interrogtition 


and Exclama- 








31 


9. 


The Comma, 




. 32 


10. 


" " continued, 




. 36 


11. 


The Semicolon, . 




. 39 


12 


" " continued, 




. 40 


13. 






42 


14. 


The Colon, . 




44 


15. 


" " continued. 




46 



16. The Parenthesis, Crotchets and Brackets, 48 

17. The Dash 51 

18. The Hyphen, 60 

19. The Ellipsis, 60 

20. The Apostrophe, Q,uotation and Diceresis, 63 

21. The Asterisk, Obelisk, Double Obelisk, 



Lesson. Page. 

Section, Parallels, Paragraph, Index, 
Caret, Breve and Brace, ... 66 

22. Accent, 68 

23. Emphasis 73 

24. Primary and Secondary Emphasis, . 75 

25. Distinctness of Articulation, . . 79 

26. Manner or Expression, ... 86 

27. Pitch of the Voice, .... 94 

28. Transition, 96 

29. Elliptical Sentences, .... 99 

30. Antithesis, 103 

31. Enumeration 105- 

32. Irony, 109 

33. Analogy, HO 

34. The Stir, 113 

35. Measure of Speech, . . . .119 

36. Manner of Reading Poetry, . . 136 

37. Monotone, 141 

S8. Analysis 144 

39. Blending of Words, produced by Accent- 

ed Force 151 

40. Improvement of the Voice, . . 152 



INDEX OF THE EXERCISES. 
[The Italic letters indicate those Exercises which are in verse.] 

Exercise. Authors. Page. 

1. Structure of Animals, Spectator, 157 

2. Philosophy, Thomson, 160 

3. Scale of Beings, Addison, 161 

4. Teachins,s of Nature, Pollock, 164 



5. English Politeness described by a Native of China 

6. Pleasures of Melancholy 

Amiable Character of the Patriarch Joseph, • . 

The RainboiD. 

Immortality of the Soul, 

Winter, Thomson 

Sabbath Exercises. . Abbott. 



Goldsmith 165 

T. Warton 166 

Blair 167 

Campbell, 170 

Addison 172 

... .174 
.... 175 



The Destrted Village Goldsmith, 178 

The Journey of a Day ; a Picture of Human Life, . . . Dr. Johnson, 188 

A Summer Morning, Thomson, 192 

Parable of the Ewe Lamb, Bible. 194 

Meditation, Thnm.son, 195 

17. The Planetary and the Terrestial Worlds, Addison 197 

13. CLunrrel beticeen Roderick Dhu and Fitz James, . . Sir Walter Scott, . . .199 

19. Schemes of Life often Illusory, Dr. Johnson 210 

20. A Dream Bryant. . 213 

21. Ortosrul: or. the Vanity of Riches, Dr. Johnson 214 

22. Summer Heat Thomson, 216 

23. Omniscience and Omnipresence of the Deity, Addison, 217 



24. Slimmer Bathing 

25. Scene after a Thunder Shower, .... 

26. Domestic Employment, 

27. Scene from the Tragedy of King John, 

28. " " " 

29. " " " 

30. Character of Addison as a Writer, . . . 

31. Elegy loritten in a Country Churchyard, 

32. Filial Reverence, 

33. A"l>'mn., . Thomson 

34. The First and the Last Dinner, 

35. D'ly. — A Pastoral 

36. Dombey's Introduction into a Fashionable School 

37. Same subject continued. — The Dinner Hour. . . 
33. Orator Puff. 

39. Soliloquy of Dick the Apprentice Anonymous, 

40. Pace/ioHS History of John Gilpin Cowper 



Thomson, 220 

221 

Mrs. L. H. Sigourney. . 222 

Shakspeare, 223 

225 

228 

Dr. Johnson 231 

Gray 232 

Mrs. Farrar 235 

237 

Anonymous 239 

Cunningham 241 

Dickens, 244 

251 

Moore 254 

254 



• • 2S5 

41. Departure of the Gypsies from Ellangowan, Sir Walter Scott, . . .258 

42. S:7ring Thomson 261 

43. Address to President Washinsion, 263 

44. Trout Fishing, ..'....' Thomson, • 265 

46. Contentment, Addison, 267 



432 INDEX. 

Exercise. Authors. Page. 

46. Arabx/'s Daughter Moore, 270 

47. The fiill of Science, " Aikin 271 

48. The Passions.— An Ode, • Collins 274 

49. Adaptation of Christianity to the Wants of Man, . . Pres. Hopkins, .... 276 

50. Hymn on the Seasons, Thomson, 278 

51. The Blind Man restored to Sight, St. John's Gospel, ... 281 

52. Picture of a Distinguished Poet, Pollock, 283 

53. Grotto of Antiparos, Goldsmith, 287 

54. The Past Bryant, 290 

55. Extract from an Oration at Washington, Hon. R. C. Winthrop, . 291 

56. Winter Scenes, Thomson, 294 

57. Punishment of a Liar, Bible, 299 

58. Reflections occasioned by a Man's perishing in a 

Snoiv-slortn, Thomson, 301 

59. Callisthenes' Reproof of Cleon's Flattery of Alexander, Q. Curtiua, 303 

60. Rural Felicity, Thomson, 304 

61. RoUa's Address to the Peruvians, Sheridan, 306 

62. Oft in tim Stilly Night, Moore, 307 

63. Extract from a Speech in the British Parliament in 1770, Lord Mansfield, .... .308 

64. Address to the Deity, Young, .309 

65. Causes of DiflFerences of Opinion, Abbott, 311 

66. The Last Rose of Summer, Moore, 312 

67. Importance of Order in the Distribution of Time, . . Blair, 313 

68. The Katydid, Dr. O. W. Holmes, . . 314 

69. Conclusion of an Address to President Washington, . Fisher Ames, . . . . .316 

70. The Frost . . Hannah F. Gould, . . .317 

71. Character of Lord Chatham, Gratlan, 318 

72. Blalosue— Cardinal Wolsey and Cromwell, . . . Shakspeare 319 

73. On the Resurrection, St. Paul, 322 

74. Sel_ftshness Reproved, Pope 325 

75. Extract from an Address before the N. E. Society, . Hon. R. C. Winthrop, . 326 

76. Description of Mab, Q.ueen of the Fairies, .... Shakspeare, 335 

77. Progress of Freedom W. H. Prescott. ... 335 

78. The Meeting of the Waters Moore 338 

79. Extracts from an Inaugural Address, Hon. John P. Bigelow, . 339 

80. Adam's Description of his first State of Being, . . Milton, 342 

81. Character of Lord Hafifax, .' Macaulay, 342 

82. Dexcription of Eve's first finding herself on Earth, Milton, 345 

83. The Cant of Criticism, Sterne, ... ..... 346 

84. Hotspur's Description of a Fop, Shakspeare 347 

85. Extract from an Address, Hon. R. C. Winthrop, . 348 

86. Soliloquy of Claudius, Hamlet's uncle Shakspeare, . . . • . 354 

87. Charity. . " '. St. Paul, 355 

88. Farewell, Moore, .356 

89. English Travellers, W. H. Prescott, ... 357 

90. Speak Gently • Anonymous 365 

91. Extract from a Speech in the Senate of the U. States, . Hon. Rufus Choate, . . 366 

92. The Bird let loose Moore 368 

9-3. The Prodigal Son St. Luke, 369 

94. Go where Glory waits thee, Moore, 370 

9.5. Hamlet's Advice to the Players, Shakspeare, 371 

96. Milton's Lamentation for the Loss of Sight, . . .Milton, 372 

97. Intellectual Improvement, Abbott, 374 

93. The World Compared to a Stage, Shakspeare, 377 

99. Woman Geo. B. Emerson, . . .378 

100. Passing Away ^ . Pierpont, ....... 380 

101. Association of Ideas, Taylor, 382 

102. The Lighthouse Moore 388 

103. Aqueous Agencies, David Page, 388 

104. Soliloquy of Hamlet on Death, Shakspeare, 394 

105. Hotspur's Soliloquy on the Contents of a Letter, . . " 395 

106. Cataract of Lodore, Southey, 396 

107. Power of Custom, Addison, 398 

108. The Contrast Pollock 400 

109. How to Remember what we Read, Pycroft 403 

110. Happiness equally distributed, Goldsmith, 403 

111. Character of Francisco Pizarro, W. H. Prescott, . . .409 

112. Virtuous Love, Thomson, 416 

113. Shakspeare Price 418 

114. The Chameleon Merrick, 421 

115. Domiaie Sampson's Ei\aount«r with Sl«g' M»rrili«8, . Sir Walt«r S«oU, . . 423 



Parker's JS'atural Phii'osophp. 



NATURAL AND EXPERIMENTAL PHILOSOPHY 

FOR SCHOOLS AXD ACADEMIES, 

BY R. Q. PARREEj A. 31. 

PRINCIPAL OF THE JOHNSON GRA>iMAR SCHOOL, BOSTOX, AUTHOR Of AID« 
TO ENGLISH COMPOSITION. ETC.. ETC. 



I. PARKER'S FIRST LESSONS IN NATURAL PHILOSOPHY 
II. PARKER'S COMPENDUM OF NATURAL AND EXPERIMENTAL 
PHILOSOPHY. 



PARKER'S FIRST LESSONS IN NATURAL PHILOSOPHr, 

Embraciacr the Eiements of the Science. Filustrated w;ih niimeroua 

engravings. Deigned for yonng beginners. Price 35 cts. 

It is the desig-Q of this little book, to present to the minds of the 
youth of the country a view of the laws of Nature — as they are 
exhibited in the Nattral World. 

Reading books should be used in schools for the double object of 
teaching the child to read, and storing his mind with pleasant and 
useful ideas. 

The form of instruction by dialogue, being the simplest, has 
been adopted — and by means of the simple question and the ap- 
propriate answer, a general view of the laws of the physical uni- 
verse has been rendered so intelligible, as to be easily understood 
by children who are able to read intelligibly. 

It is confidently believed that this book will form an imponanf 
era m the progress of common-school education 

PARKER'S COMPENDIUM OF NATURAL AND EXPERIMENT Al 

PHILOSOPHY. 
Embracing the Elementary principles of Mechanics, Hydrostatics, Hy- 
dniulics, Pneujnatics, Acoustics. Pyronom:cs, Optics, AstronoJny, 
G(i!ran'sm, Macryietism, Eiectro-M'jgiietism, Migneto-EUctriciti/, 
with a description of the Steam and Locoviotive Engines. lUustrated 
by numerous diagrams. Price §1.00. 

The use of school apparatus for illustrating and exemplifying 
the principles of Natural and Experimental Philosophy, hai?, with- 
in the last few years, become so general as to render necessary a 
work which should combine, in the same course of instruction, the 
theory, with a full description of the apparatus necessary for illus- 
tration and experiment. 

The work of Professor Parker, it is conJidently beliered, folly 
nipets that requirement. It is also verv full in tHp aeneral facts 

0-2) 



Parker'' s Natural Phi'osophy. 



which it presents — clear and concise in its style, and entirely 
scientific and natural in its arrangement. The following features 
will, it is hoped, commend the work to public favor. 

1. It is adapted to the present state of natural science ; embraces 
a wider field, and contains a greater amount of information on the 
respective subjects of which it treats, than any other elementary 
.realise of its size. 

2. It contains an engraving of the Boston School set of philn 
wphical apparatus ; a description of the instruments, and an ac- 
count of many experiments which can be performed by means ot 
the apparatus. 

3. It is enriched by a representation and a description of the 
Locomotive and the. Stationary Steam Engines, in their latest and 
most approved forms. 

4. Besides embracing a copious account of the principles ol 
Electricity and Magnetism, its value is enhanced by the introduc- 
tion of the science of Pyronomics, together with the new science 
of Electro-Magnetism and Magneto-Electricity. 

5. It is peculiarly adapted to the convenience of study and of 
recitation, by the figures and diagrams being first placed side by 
side with the illustrations, and then repeated on separate leaves at 
the end of the volume. The number is also given, where each 
principle may be found, to which allusion is made throughout the 
volume. 

6. It presents the most important principles of science in a 
larger type ; while the deductions from these principles, and the 
illustrations, are contained in a smaller letter. Much useful and 
interesting matter is also crowded into notes at the bottom of the 
page. By this arrangement, the pupil can never be at a loss to 
distinguish the parts of a lesson which are of primary importance ; 
nor will he be in danger of mistaking theory and conjecture for fact. 

7. It contains a number of original illustrations, which the author 
has found more intelligible to young students than those which he 
has met elsewhere. 

8. Nothing has been omitted which is usually contained in an 
elementary treatise. 

9. A full description is given of the Magnetic Telegraph, and the 
principles of its construction are fully explained. 

10. For the purpose of aiding the teacher in conducting an ex- 
amination through an entire subject, or indeed, through the whole 
book, if necessary, all the diagrams have been repeated at the 
end of the work, and questions proposed on the left-hand page im- 
mediately opposite. This arrangement will permit ihe pupil to 
use the figure, in his recitation, if he have not time to make it on 
the blacdi-board, and will also enable him to review several lessons 
and recall all the principles by simply reading the questions, and 
analyzing the diagrams. 

ri3^ 



i 



ParJcer^s Natural Pliiloaophy. 



From the Wayne County Whig. 

After a careful examination of this work, we find that it is well calculated for 
the purpose for which it is intended, and better adapted to the state of natural 
science at the present time, than any other similar production with which we 
are acquainted. The design of the author, in the preparation of this work, was 
to present to the public an elementary treatise unencumbered with matter that is 
not intimately connected with this science, and to give a greater amount of in- 
formation on the respective subjects of which it treats, than any other school- 
book of an elementary character. The most remarKable feature in the style of 
this work is its extreme brevity. In the arrangement of the subject and the man 
ner of presenting it, there are some peculiarities which are, in our opinion, de- 
cided ifnprovements. The more important principles of this interesting science 
are given in a few words, and with admirable perspicuity, in a larger type ; while 
the deductions from these principles, and the illustrations are contained in a 
smaller letter. Much useful and interesting matter is also given in notes at the 
bottom of the page. 

This volume is designed expressly to accompany the Boston School Set of Philo- 
sophical ^Ipparatus ; but the numerous diagrams with which it is illustrated, are 
so well executed and so easily understood, that the assistance of, the Apparatus 
is hardly necessary to a thorough knowledge of the science. The trustees of the 
Lyons Union School having recently procured a complete set of the above Ap 
paratus, this work will now be used as a text-book in that institution. 



Leicester Academy, April 12, 1848. 
Messrs. A. S. Barnes & Co.: 

Sirs .—1 have examined Parker's Natural Philosophy, and am much pleased 
with it. 1 think I shall introduce it into the academy the coming term. It seems 
to me to have hit a happy medium between the too simple and the too abstract. 
The notes containing facts, and showing the reasons of many things that are of 
common occurrence in every-day life, seem to me to be a valuable feature of the 
work. 

Very respectfully, yours, B. A. SMITH 



From the New York Evening Post. 
Professor Parker's book embraces the latest results of investigation on the suL 
'ec.ts of which it treats. It has a separate title for the laws of heat, or Pyronom 
ics, which have been lately added to the list of sciences, as well as electro mag- 
netism and magneto electricity. The matter is well arranged, and the style ot 
statement clear and concise. The ngures and diagrams are placed side by side 
with the text they illustrate, which is greatly for the convenience of the student 
We cheerfully commend the book to the favorable attention of the public. 



From the .,1lbany Spectator. 
'1 his is a school-book ol no mean pretensions and of no ordinary value. It Is 
ddmirably adapted to the present state of natural science ; and besides contain- 
ing engravings of the Boston school set of philosophical apparatus, embodies 
m ire information on every subject on which it treats than any other elementary 
'A rk of its size that we have examined. It abounds with all the necessary helps 
a. prosecuting the study of the science, and as its value becomes known it can- 
'>• . ''ail to be generally adopted as a text-book 

14 



Parker's Natural Fhilosophy. 



From the Newark Daily Advertiser. 
A work adapted to the present state of natural science is greatly needed in all 
our schools, and the appearance of one meeting all ordinary wants must be hailed 
with pleasure by tliose who feel an interest in the cause of education. Mr. Par- 
ker's work embraces a wider field, and contains a greater amount of information 
on the respective subjects of which it treats, than any other elementary treatise 
of its size, and is rendered peculiarly valuable by the introduction of the science of 
Pyronomics, together with the new sciences of Electro-Magnetism and Magneto 
Electricity. We have seldom met with a work so well adapted to the conveni- 
ence of study and recitation, and regard as highly worthy of commendation the 
care which the author has taken to prevent the pupil from mistaking theory and 
conjecture for fact. We predict for this valuable and beautifully printed w 
the utmost success. 

From the New York Courier and Enquirer 
" A School Compendium of Natural and Experimental Philosophy," by Richard 
Green Parker, has just been issued by Barnes & Co. Mr. Parker has had a good 
deal of experience in the business of practical instruction, and is, also, the author 
of works which have been widely adopted in schools. The present volume strikes 
us as having very marked merit, and we cannot doubt it will be well received. 

New York, May, 1848. 
Messrs. A. S. Barnes & Co.-. 

Gent. : — I have no hesitation in saying that Parker's Natural Philosophy is the 
most valuable elementary work I have seen : the arrangement of the subjects 
and the clearness of the definitions render it an excellent adjunct to a teacher. 
For the last seven years I have used it in various schools as a text-book for my 
lectures on Natural Philosophy, and am happy to find that in the new edition 
much important matter is added, more especially on the subjects of Electricity 
and Electro-Magnetism. 

With respect, Gentlemen, 

Your obedient servant, 

GILBERT LANGDON HUME, 
Teacher of Natural Philosophy and Mathematics in N. Y. city. 

41 

New York, May 2, 1848. 
We have used Parker's Compend of Natural Philosophy for many years, and 
consider it an excellent work on the various topics of which it treats. 

Yours, &c. FORREST & McELLIGOTT, 

Principals of the Collegiate School. 

From the Lynchburg Virginian. 
The volume before us strikes us as containing more to recommend it than any 
one of its class with which we are acquainted. It is adapted to the present state 
of natural science ; embraces a wider field, and contains a greater amount of in- 
formation on the respective subjects of which it treats, than any other elementary 
treatise of its size. It contains descriptions of the steam-engine, stationary and 
locomotive, and of the magnetic telegraph. It embraces a copious account o* 
the principles of electricity and magnetism, under all their modifications, and ia 
embellished by a vast number of illustrations and diagrams. There is appended 
a series of questions for examination, copious and pertinent 

15 



Fulton (& £astmans Principles of Penmanshii). 

FULTON 8l EASTMAN'S PENMANSHIP, 

Illustrated and expeditiously taugiit by the use of a series of Chirographic 
Charts, a Key, and a set of School Writing- Books, appropriately ruled. 

I. 

CHIROGRAPHIC CHARTS, 

IN TWO NUMBERS. (Price 5.00.) 

Cliart No. 1, Embraces Primary Exercises, and Elementary Principles 

IN Writing. 
Cbart No. 2, EImbraces Elementary Principles for Capitals Combined, 
AND Elementary Principles for Small Letters CoxM- 

BLVED. 

II. 

KEY TO CHIROGRAPHIC CHARTS ; 

Containing directions for the position at the desk, and manner of holding 

the pen. — Also for the exact forms and proportions of letters, with Rules 

for their execution. (Price 25 cents.) 

HI. 

SCHOOL WRITING-BOOKS. 

in four NUMBERS. (Price 12^ cents each.) 



From the Trustees oj the Union School, Lyons, N. Y. 

The undersigned, trustees of the Union District School of the town of Lyons, 
take this method of expressing their ai>proval of " Fulton's Principles of Pen- 
manship." They have seen the system m operation, during the past year, in the 
school with which they are conuecied, and are fully satisfied of its great superi- 
ority over all other systems heretofore used. Tiie " Chirographic Charts," upon 
which are drawn in large size the cUtTerent letters and parts of the letters of the 
alphabet,-proportioned in accordance with the rules laid down by the author for 
the formation of each letter, and which, when suspended, can be seen from all 
parts of a school-room of ordinary size, they regard as an especial improvement 
upon, and advantage over, other modes of teaching this art. While the labor of 
the teacher is by this means lightened a hundredfold, from the fact that the direc- 
tions and rules thus illustrated, can be explained to a whole class at once, the 
benefit to the scholar is proportionally increased. The charts being made the 
property of the district, a uniformity is estabhshed in this branch of instruction, 
and the continual changes in books and methods of teacking, which have hereto- 
fore given occasion to so much just complaint on the part of parents and guard- 
ians, and which have been so prejudicial to the pupil, are entirely avoided. 

The brief space necessarily allotted to a notice of tliis kind, will not permit the 
undersigned to say all they might say with truth in praise of Mr. F.'s system of 
Instruction. They therefore conclude with the remark that it meets their entire 
approbation, and they cordially commend it to the favorable notice of the friends 
9f education generally, and would recommend its adoption by academies and 
oraraon schools in this and in other states. 

A. L. BEAUMONT 
ELI JOHNSON, 

Duted Lyons, N Y., April 5th, 1847. DE WITT PARSHALL 

25 



Willard^s Series of ScJwol Histories and Charts. 

MRS. EMMA WILLARD'S 
SERIES OF SCHOOL HISTORIES AND CHARTS. 

I. WILLARD'S HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES, OR RE- 
PUBLIC OF AMERICA, 8vo. Price $1.50. 
II. WILLARD'S SCHOOL HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. 
III. WILLARD'S AMERICAN CHRONOGRAPHER, $L00. 
A Chart of American History. 



I. WILLARD'S UNIVERSAL HISTORY IN PERSPECTIVE. $1.50. 
II. WILLARD'S TEMPLE OF TIME, $1.25. 

A Chart of Universal History 



W I L L A R D'S 
HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES 



The large work is designed as a Text-Book for Academies and 
Female Seminaries : and also for District School and Family 
Libraries. The small work being an Abridgment of the satne, ia 
designed as a Text-Book for Common Schools. The originality 
of the plan consists in dividing the time into periods, of which 
the beginnings and terminations are marked by important events ; 
and constructing a series of maps illustrating the progress of the 
settlement of the country, and the regular advances of civilization. 
The Chronographic Chart, gives by simple inspection, a view of 
the divisions of the work, and the events which mark the be- 
ginning and termination of each period into which it is divided. 
A full chronological table will be found, in which all the events ot 
the History are arranged in the order of time. There is appended 
to the work the Constitution of the United States, and a series ot 
questions adapted to each chapter, so that the work may be used 
in schools and for private instruction. 

The Hon. Daniel Webster says, of an early edition of the above work, in a letter 
to the author, " / keep it near me, as a Book of Reference, accurate in facts and date*,'* 



WiUar(Vs Series of School Histories and Charts. 

WILLARD'S 
AMERICAN CH RONOGRAPH ER, 

DESIGNED TO ACCOMPANY WILLARD's HISTORY OF 
THE UNITED STATES. 



To measure time by space is universal among civilized nations, 
and as the hours, and minutes, and seconds of a clock measure the 
time of a day, so do the centuries, tens, and single years of this 
Chronographer, measure the time of American History. A 
general knowledge of chronology is as indispensable to history, as 
a general knowledge of latitude and longitude is to geography. 
But to learn single dates, apart from a general plan of chronology 
addressed to the eye, is as useless as to learn latitudes and longi- 
tudes without reference to a map. The eye is the only medium 
of permanent impression. The essential point in a date, is to 
know the relative place of an event, or how it stands in time com- 
pared with other important events. The scholar in the school- 
loom, or the gentleman in his study, wants such a visible plan of 
time for the study of history, the same as he wants the visible 
plan of space, viz., a map for the study of geography, or of books 
of travels. Such is the object of Willard^s Chronographer of 
American His tori/. 



Extract from a Report of the Ward School Teachers'' Association 
of the City of New York. 

The Committee on Books of the Ward School Association resppntfully report : 

That they have examined Mrs. Wiilard's History of the T^^ated States with 
peculiar interest, and are free to say, that it is in their opinion decidedly the best 
treatise on this interesting subject that they have seen. * * 

As a school-book, its proper place is among the first. The language is remark- 
able for simplicity, perspicuity, and neatness ; youth could not be trained to a 
better taste for language than this is calculated to impart. The history is so 
written as to lead to geographical examinations, and impresses by practice the 
habit to read history with maps. It places at once, in the hands of American 
youth, the history of their country from the day of its discovery to me present 
time, and exhibits a clear arrangement of all the great and good deeds of their 
ancestors, of which they now enjoy the benefits, and inherit tlie renown. The 
struggles, sufferings, firmness, and piety of the first settlers are delineated with a 
masterly hand. 

The gradual enlargement of our dominions, and the development of our na- 
tional energies, are tracec with a minute accuracy, which the general plan of the 
work indicates. 

The events and achievements of the Revolution and of the last war, are 
brought out in a clear light, and the subsequent history of our national policy 
and advancement strikingly portrayed, without being disfigured bv that imge 

(19) 



Willard's Series of School Histories and Charts, 

of party bias which is so difficult to be guarded against by histonaus of their own 
times. 

The aetdils of the discovery of this continent by Columbus, and of the early 
settlements by the Spaniards, Portuguese, and other European nations, are aH of 
essential interest to the student of American history, and will be found sufficiently 
minute to render the history of the continent full and complete. The different 
periods of time, together with the particular dates, are distinctly set forth with 
statistical notes on the margin of each page,— and these afford much information 
without perusing the pages. 

The maps are beautifully executed, with the locality of places where particular 
events occurred, and the surrounding country particularly delineated. These 
are admirably calculated to make lasting impressions on the mind. 

The day has now arrived when every child should be acquainted with the his- 
tory of his country ; and your Committee rejoice that a work so full and clear can 
be placed within the reach of every one. 

The student will learn, by reading a few pages, how much reason he has to be 
proud of his country— of its institutions— of its founders — of its heroes and states- 
men : and by such lessons are we not to hope that those who come after us wn 
be instructed in their duties as citizens, and their obligations as patriots 1 

Your Committee are anxious to see this work extensively used in all the schoo.s 
in the United States. 

(Signed,) 

SENECA DURAND, 

EDWARD Mcelroy, 

JOHN WALSH. 

The fJommittee would respectfully offer the following resolution : 
Resolved, That Mrs. Emma Willard's History of the United States be adopted 
by this Association, and its introduction into our schools earnestly recom- 
mended. 

At a meeting of the Board of the Ward School Teacners' Association January 
90th, 1847, the above Resolution was adopted. — (Copied from the Minutes.) 



From the Boston Traveller. 

We consider the work a remarkable one, in that it forms the best book for 
general reading and reference published, and at the same time has no equal, in 
our opinion, as a text-book. On this latter point, the profession which its author 
has so long followed with such signal success, rendered her peculiarly a fitting 
person to prepare a text-book. None but a practical teacher is capable of pre- 
paring a good school-book ; and as woman has so much to do in forming our 
garly character, why should her influence cease at the fireside — why not en- 
courage her to exert her talents still, in preparing school and other books for 
after years ? No hand can do it better. 

The typography of this work is altogether in good taste. 



From the Cincinnati Gazette. 
Mrs. Willard's School History of the United States.— It is one of those 
rare things, a good schuol-book ; infinitely better than any of the United States 
Histories fitted for schools, which we have at present. It is quite full enough, 
and yet condensed with great care and skill. The style is clear and simple — 
Mrs. Willard having avoided those immense Johnsonian words which Gnrnshaw 
and otlier writers for children love to put into their works, while, at the same 
time there is nothing of the pap style about it. The arrangement is excellent, 

(20) 



Willard^s beries of School Histories and Charts. 

the chapters of a good length ; every page is dated, and a marginal index makes 
reference easy. But the best feature in the work is its series of maps ; we have 
the com^.try as it was when filled with Indians ; as granted to Gilbert ; as di- 
vided at the time the Pilgrims came over; as apportioned in 1643; the West 
while in possession of France ; the Atlantic coast in 1733 ; in 1783 ; as in the 
Revolution, with the position of the army at various points ; at the close of the 
Revolutionary War ; during the war of 1812-15 ; and in 1840 -. making eleven 
most excellent maps, such as every school history should, have. When we 
think of the unintelligible, incomplete, badly written, badly arranged, worthless 
work of Grimshaw which has been so long used in our schools, we feel that 
every scholar and teacher owes a debt of gratitude to Mrs. Willard. Mius 
Robins has done for English History, what Mrs. Willard has now done for 
American, and we trust these two works will be followed by others of as high or 
higher character. We recommend Mrs. Willard's work as better than any we 
know of on the same subject ; not excepting Bancroft's abridgment. This work, 
followed by the careful reading of Mr. Bancroft's full work, is all that would be 
needed up to the point where Bancroft stops; from that point, Pitkin and Mar- 
shall imperfectly supply the place, which Bancroft and Sparks will soon fiU. 

Fro7n the United States Gazette, 

Mrs. Willard is well known throughout the country as a lady of high attam 
ments, who has distinguished herself as the Principal of Female Academies, that 
have sent abroad some of the most accomplished females of the land. 

The plan of the authoress is to divide the time into periods, of which the be- 
ginning and the end are marked by some important event, and then care has 
been taken to make plain the events of intermediate periods. The style is clear, 
and there appears no confusion in the narrative. In looking through the work, 
we do not discover that the author has any early prejudices to gratify. The 
book, therefore, so far as we have been able to judge, may be safely recom- 
mended as one of g'-eat merit, and the maps and marginal notes, and series of 
questions, give additional value to the work. 

From the Neivburyport Watchman. 

An Abridged History of the United States : By Emma Willard. — We 
think we are warranted in saying, that it is better adapted to meet the wants of 
our schools and academies in which history is pursued, than any other work of 
the kind now before the public. 

The style is perspicuous and flowing, and the prominent points of our history are 
presented in such a manner as to make a deep and lasting impression on the mind. 

We could conscientiously say much more in praise of this book, but must content ' 
ourselves by heartily commending it to the attention of those who are anxious 
to find a good text-book of American history for the use of schools. 

From the Albany Evening Journal. 
Wii lard's United States. — This work is well printed on strong white paper, 
and is bound in a plain substantial manner— all-important requisites in a school- 
book. The text is prepared with equal skill and judgment. The memory of the 
youthful student is aided by a number of spirited illustrations— by no means un- 
important auxiliaries— while to lighten the labors of the teacher, a series of ques- 
tions is adapted to each chapter. Nor is its usefulness limited to the school-room 
As a book of reference for editors, lawyers, politicians, and others, where dates and 
facts connected with every important event in American History may be readily 
founa, this little book is truly valuable. 

21 



Willard's Series of School Histories and Charts. 

WILLARD'S 
UNIVERSAL HISTORY IN PERSPECTIVE. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH MAPS AND ENGRAVINGS. 



THIS WORK IS ARRANGED IN THREE PARTS, VIZ : 

ANCIENT, MIDDLE, AND MODERN HISTORY. 

1. Ancient History is divided into six periods — comprising 
events from the Creation, to the Birth of our Saviour. 

2. Middle History, into five periods, — from the Christian Era, 
to the Discovery of America. 

3. Modern History, into nine periods, — from the Discovery of 
America, to the present time. Each period marked by some im- 
portant event and illustrated by maps or engravings. 

The following resolution was offered and adopted at a meeting of the Ward 
School Teachers' Association of the City of New York, January 20th, 1847. 

Resolved, That the Ward School Teachers' Association of New York con- 
siders Willard's Universal History as a book essentially adapted to the higliei 
classes of schools on account of its vivacity, lucidness, and intelligent mode o 
arrangement, of dates and questions, and that such a work has long been wanted 
and as such will endeavor to introduce it into their respective schools, au 
warmly recommend it to public patronage. 



Extract of a Letter from Mr. Elbridge Smith, late Principal of the English 
High School of Worcester, Mass. 

I have recently introduced " Willard's Universal History in Perspective," into 
the school under my care. I am much pleased with it, and think it superior to 
any other work of the kind. 

(Signed,) 

ELBRIDGE SMITH 
Worcester, June 5, 1847. 

From Professor Charles B. Haddock of Dartmouth College, and School Commissioner 

of the State of New Hampshire. 
I am acquainted with Mrs. Willard's Histories, and entertain a high opinion ol 
ihem. They are happily executed, and worthy of the long experience and ei \ 
nent character of their author. 

(Signed,) 

CHARLES B. HADDOCK 
Dartmouth College, Hanover, Dec. II, 1846 

22 



iVillard^s Series of School Histories and Charts. 
W I LLARD'S 

TEMPLE OF TIME, 

DESIGNED TO ACCOMPANY WILLARd's UNIVERSAL HISTORY 



This Temple exhibits at one view the whole scheme of Uni 
versal Chronology, from the Creation to the present time. Each 
pillar represents the century corresponding to the number at its 
6ase. The pillars are in groups of tens, four groups before 
Christ, and two after, the last thousand years being deficient by a 
part of the nineteenth and the whole of the twentieth century. 
As pillars in building are begun at the bottom, so the time of the 
century represented by each pillar, is reckoned upwards. (See 
pillar for the eighteenth century.) 

The names on the pillars are of those sovereigns by which the 
age is chiefly distinguished. The floor-work shows what have 
been the principal nations of the world, through the several cen- 
turies, which may be known by tracing to the bases of the pil- 
lars on each side. Of the principal nations of Europe, the 
names of all the sovereigns now reigning, and of those who have 
reigned since the discovery of America, are inserted ; but ante- 
cedent to that period, only the names of the principal sovereigns 
are set down. 

The roof of the Temple contains, in five compartments, the names 
of the most celebrated persons of the age to which they be- 
longed. The Temple, in so far as the pillars and the roof are 
concerned, might be called the Temple of Time and of Fame. 
All the names inserted on those parts are of persons not now living. 
Along the right margin of the floor-work and next the base of 
the pillars, are set down some of the most important battles. On 
the left corresponding margin, are placed the epochs of Willard's 
Universal History. They are selected with care, as the best by 
which to divide this great subject. This brings the Temple of 
Time into closer connection with Willard's History than with any 
other; but it may accompany any system of Universal History j 
oj it may be used to advantage by itself, with the aid of a Die- 
t tary of Universal Biography, 

23 



Willard*s Series of School Histories and Charts. 

Argyle Academy, April 12, 1848. 
Messrs. A. S. Barnes & Co.: 

Gent. .-—After the second perusal of Willard's Universal History I have pro- 
nounced it the best work that 1 have seen on this subject. It should be immedi- 
ately introduced into all our high schools. 

Respectfully yours, D. A. HARSHA, Principal. 

COBTLANDVJLLE AcADEMY, Nov. 9, 

Mrs. Willard's Universal History has been a standard book with us for more 
than a year, and we have no wish to part with it. Her history of the United 
States we esteem as a dear friend. No one can know that book and not admire it. 

W. C. LIVINGSTON, Principal 

Phillips Academy, Exeter, N. H., Aug. 24, 1847. 
Messrs. A. S. Barnes & Co. : 

Gent. : — My estimation of Willard's Histories may be inferred from the fact 
that they are adopted as our text-books in this academy. 

Respectfully yours, S. G. HOYT. 

Extract of a Letter to the Authoress from the Rev. John Lord, the celebrated Jlmerican 
Lecturer on the Middle Ages. 
Having critically and carefully examined Mrs. Willard's Chronological Picture 
of Nations, I can most cordially say, that in my opinion, it is accurate, original, 
and comprehensive. I question whether there is any historical chart of the kind in 
existence, more valuable to historical students of any age or attainment, or cal 
culated to be so useful in Literary Institutions. 

(Signed,) JOHN LORD. 

Hartford, May 18, 1843. 

From Jona. Tarbell, Esq., late Superintendent of Essex County, New York. 
Mrs. Willard : 

Permit me to say to you directly, that I have once carefully examined your 
Histories, and often referred to their contents : the conclusion to which I have 
come is the following, viz. : 
1st. The style combines grace, beauty, and strength. 
2d. The arrangement is new, and not to be excelled. 
3d. They meet the wants of our common schools. 

4th. They are just what every one needs, of whatever occupation or profes- 
sion, not only as books of reference, but as containing the whole of History, m a 
style of rare attainment. Personally I am an entire stranger to you, and though 
the most humble am not the least devoted admirer of your productions. 

Yours, very respectfully, JONATHAN TARBELL 

24 



1 



Clark'' s English Granunar. 



SCIENCE OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE, 



CLARK'S NEW ENGLISH GRAMMAR. 

Practical Grammar, in which Words, Phrases, and Sentences 
-j-e classified, according to their offices, and their relation to 
each other : illustrated by a complete system of Diagrams. \^Y 
S. W. Clark, A. M. Price 50 cts. 

From the Rahway Register. 
It is a most capital work, and well calculated, if we mistake not, to supersede, 
even in our best schools, works of much loftier pretension. The peculiarity of its 
method grew out of the best practice of its author (as he himself assuies us in its 
preface) while engaged m communicating the science to an adult class ; and his 
success was fully commensurate with the happy and philosophic design he has 
unfolded. Technicality, as technicality, our author unceremoniously discards, and 
substitutes on the pupil's part rational practice in ascertaining the office of words in 
sentences, rather than the usual mode of perplexing his memoiy with their mere 
names andjomis. 

From the New York Tribune. 
" Tlie Science of the English Language — A Practical Grammar, in which 
Words. Phrases, and Sentences are classified according to their offices and their 
lelatiou to each otlier. Illustrated by a complete system of Diagrams. By S. W 
Clark, A. M.," is a new work which strikes us very favorably. Its deviations from 
older books of the kind are generally judicious and often important. We wish 
teachers would examine it. 

From the Courier and Enquirer. 
" A Practical Grammar of the English Language" by S. W. Clark, A. M., has 
just been published by Barnes & Co. It is prepared upon a new plan, to meet diffi- 
culties which the author has encountered in practical instruction. Granunar and 
the slruA;ture of language are tauglit throughout by analysis, and in a way which 
renders their acquisition easy and satisfactory. From the slight examination, 
wluch IS all we have been able to give it, we are convinced it has points of very 
decKiud superiority over any of tiie elementary works in common use. We com- 
mend it to the attention of all who are engaged in instruction 

From A. R. Simmons, Ex- Superintendent of Bristol. 
Mu. Clarr. 

Dear Sir : — From a thorough examination of your method of teaching the Eng 
lish language, I am prepared to give it my unqualified approbation. It is a plan 
original and beautiful — well adapted to the capacities of learners of every age and 
stage of advancement. Believing that the introduction into our Common Schools 
and Academies of a text-book on grammar containing your system and method 
will greatly facilitate the acquisition of the science of the English language, I re 
spectfully suggest that it be permitted to come before the public. 
Respeo.,fully yours, 

A. R. SIMMONS, Grammar Teachei . 
Bristol, August 28, 1847 

30 



Clark's English Gratjunar. 



From the Geneva Courier. 

Mr. Clark's Grammar is a work of merit and originality. It contains an etymo- 
logical chart by which the mode, tense, &.C., of a verb, or the gender, person, &c., 
of a noun, or the different fo'-ms of any part of speech, can be determined at a 
glance. It also embraces a system of Diagrams, which illustrate very simply 
and satisfactorily the relation which the different words of a sentence bear to 
each other. The student of grammar must be greatly assisted by the introduction 
of these helps, which furnish grammar to the eye as well as to the mind. 

From the Geneva Gazette. 

This work is the production of a successful teacher in our ovni county, and 
has grown out of the ner^essities which have appeared to the writer to exist, in 
order to present the science of Grammar in a proper manner to the attention of 
the scholar. The work has been prepared for publication by the author at the 
solicitation of teachers of high character. The design is, in many respects, ori- 
ginal, but appears to be based on sound philosophical principles ; and the work 
IS most certainly worthy of the close attention and examination of teachers. 

From the Ontario Messenger. 

In mechanical execution, the book is a good one ; and if we may hazard an 
opinion, we should say the method the author has adapted for teaching gramu.ar, 
is in advance of any thing of the kind we have ever seen. His plan of using Dio,- 
grams in explaining the structure of sentences, is a I'eature in this work, which, 
among many others, strikes us favorably, and which, we believe, is calculated to 
present at one glance, what many pages of written matter in the grammars now 
in use do not contain in an intelligible form. Geometry can be taught without 
figures, and geography without pictures or maps ; but no one in our day would 
think of learning either of these sciences without the aid of figurative representa- 
tions ; and we see no good reason why this " system of diagrams" is not equally 
useful in the study of grammar. The brevity, perspicuity, and comprehensive- 
ness of this work are certainly rare merits, and alone would commend it to the 
favorable consideration of teachers and learners. Take it altogether, we think 
it a work in accordance with the spirit of the age, and we wish the author success 
in his labors of improvement. 

From the Seneca Observer. 

It is, in our opinion, a valuable work ; the best calculated of any which has 
fallen under our notice to impart interest to a study not usually very attractive; 
We commend this work to the notice of our teachers ; we are confident it will 
be favorably received by them. 

Clark's Grammar I have never seen equalled 'or practicability, which is of the 
utmost importance in all school-books. 

S. B. CLARK, 
January, 1848. Principal of Scarborough Academy, Maine 

The Grammar is just such a book as I wanted, and I shall make it the text-boot 
m ray school. 

WILLIAM BRICKLEY, 
Fehniary, 1848. Teacher, of Canastota, N. Y 

3\ 



Claj I' a English Grammar. 



From Professor Brittan, Principal of the Lyons Union School, 
Messrs. A. S. Barnes & Co. : 

I have, under Qiy immediate instruction in English Grammar, a class of more 
ihan fifty ladies and gentlemen from the Teachers' Department, who, having 
studied the grammars in common use, concur with me in expressing a decided 
preference for " Clark's New Grammar," which we have used as a text-book 
smce its publication, and which will be retained as such in this school hereafter. 

The distinguish mg peculiarities of the work are two ; and in these much of its 
merit consists. The first, is the logical examination of a sentence as the first step 
in the study of language, or grammar. By this process the pupil readily per- 
ceives that words are the instruments which the mind employs to perfect and to 
express its own conceptions ; that the principal words in a sentence may be so 
modified in their significations by other words and by phrases, as to express the 
exact proposition or train of thought designed to be communicated; and that 
words, phrases, and sentences may be most properly distinguished and classified 
according to the ofliice they perform. 

The other distinguishing peculiarity of the work is a system of Diagrams ; an<l 
a most happy expedient it is to unfold to the eye the mutual relation and depend- 
ence of words and sentences, as used for the purpose of delineating thought. 

I believe it only requires a careful examination by teachers, and those who 
have the supervision of our educational interests, to secure for this work a speedy 
introduction into all our schools. Yours very truly, 

N. BRITTAN. 

Lyons Union School, February 21, 1848. 

From H. G. Winsloio, A. M., Principal of Mount Morris Union School. 
I have examined your work on Grammar, and do not hesitate to pronounce It 
superior to any work with which I am acquainted. I shall introduce it into the 
Mount Morris Union School at the first proper opportunity. 

Your? truly, H. G. WINSLOW. 

From S. N. Sweet, Esq., Counsellor at Law. 

Professor Clark's new work on Grammar, containing Diagrams illustrative of his 
system, is, in my opinion, a most excellent treatise on " the Science of the Eng- 
lish Language." The author has studiously and properly excluded from his book 
the technicalities, jargon, and arabi-guity which so often render attempts to teach 
grammar unpleasant, if not impracticable. * * * 

The inductive plan which he lias adopted, and of which he is, in teaching gram 
mar, the originator, is admirably adapted to the great purposes of both teaching 
and learning the important science of our language. 

SAMUEL N. SWEET, Author of " Sweet's Elocution." 

Whitesborough, January 10, 1848. 

From H. O^Dell, Esq., Teacher and Ex- Superintendent of Hopewell. 
S. W. Clark : 

Sir :—l have examined your Grammar, and have no hesitation in recommend- 
ing it to those engaged in teaching the youth of our country as the work on the 
subject of grammar which the present age of improvement demands. I have in- 
troduced it into my school, and find it admirably adapted to wake up the minds ol 
the students of grammar, especially the younger portion. 

Yours, H. O'DELL. 

32 



ClKimh:..^; Edac'x tlo}. al Oxirse. 



CHAMBERS' EDUCATIONAL COURSE. 

NEW AMERICAN EDITIONS, 

FROM THE REVISED AND IMPROVED EDINBURGH EDITION. 

BY D. M. REESE, M.D., LL.D. 



Tliese Works, published under the direction of the Messrs. Chambers, of 
Ediubmgh. who are known in Great Britain and America by their numeroua 
an') valuable pubUcations, are intended especially for schools, and for the diffusion 
of aiteliigcnce on all scientific and practical subjects. They have secured for 
liie aiiUiorship of this series the labors of some oLthe first Professors in Scotland 
in the several branches. The different volumes are numerously illustrated, and 
wiW bp found to be admirably adapted, as Text-Books, and also as Library 
Books, for the iSchools and Families of the United States. 

I. TREASURY OF KNOWLEDGE. 

Three Parts in One. 

Part I.— Elementary I>essons in Common Things, 

Part II.— Practical Lessons on Common Objects. 

Part III.— Introduction to the Sciences. 

II. ELEMENTS OF DRAWING AND PSR3PEGTIVB. 
Tain Parts in One. 
Part L— Embraces Exercises for tj!E Slate and BLACKnoARD. 
Part II. — Embraces Exercises in Peiispective, Light and Shade 

ni ELEMENTS OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY. 
Three Parts in One. 
Part I. — Laws of Matter and Motion. 
Part II.— Mechanics. 
Part III.— Hydrostatics, Hydraulics, and Pneumatics. 

IV. ELEMENTS OF CHEMISTRY. By D. B. Reid, M.D., F.R.S.E. 

With Iliiistrations of the Chemical Phenomena of Daily Life, 

and a Series of Practical Experiments. 

V. ELEMENTS OF GEOLOGY. By David Page. 

VL ELEMENTS OF PHYSIOLOGY. 
Two Parts in One. 

Part I. — Vegetable Physiology. — Treats of the general Structure and Func- 
tions of Plants— their various Organs, and the Terms by which they are distin- 
guished— their Modes of Growth and Reproduction— their Geographical Distri- 
bution, and extensive Utility in the Scheme of Creation. 

Part II. — Animal Physiology. — Treats of the Orjianization, Life, and Classi- 
fication of Animals— their Mastication— Deglutition— Digestion— Circulation o. 
Blood — Respiration— Secretion and Nutrition — Exhalation, Absorption, and Lo- 
comotion—The Bones Muscles, &c.— The Nervous System, the Senses, and 
* Reproduction. 

VII. ELEM-^NTS OF ZOOLOGY. 



Theory and Practice of Teaching. 



THEORY AND PRACTICE OF TEACHING; 

OR, 

THE MOTIVES AND METHODS 

OF 

OOOB §CMO©S.-KE]EPIx^€{. 

BY DAVID P. PAGE, A.M. 

LATE PRLNXIPAL OF THE STATE NORMAL SCHOOL, ALBANY, NEW YORK 



CONTENTS. 



The ^Tpirit nj the Teacher.— Responsibility of the Teacher: 1. The ^eeJected Tree, 

2. Extent of Responsibility, 3. The Auburn Vxisou.—HaMts of the Teacher.— 
Literary Qualifications of the Teacher. — Right Views of Education. — Right Modes of 
Teaching: 1. Pouring^-in Process, 2. The Drawing-out Process, 3. The more es- 
cellent Way, 4. Waking up Mind, 5. Remarks. — Conducting Recitations.— Ex 
citing an Interest in Study: 1. Incentives ... Emulation. 2. Frizes and Rewards, 

3. Proper Incentives. — School Government: I. Requisites in the Teacher for 
Government, 2. Means of securing Good Order, 3. Punishmenls . . . Improper .. 
Proper, 4. Corporal Punishment, 5. Limitations and Suggestions. — School Ar- 
rangements : 1. Plan of Day's Work, 2. Interruptions, 3. Recesses, 4. Assignment 
of Lessons, 5. Reviews, 6. Examinations ... Exhibitions ... Celebrations —T/ie 
Teachers Relation to the Parents of his Pupils. — TTie Teacher'' s Care of his Health. — 
The Teacher^ s Relation to his Prof ession. — Miscellaneous Suggestions: 1. Things to 
be avoided, 2. Things to be performed.— TAe Rewards of the Teacher, 



This work has had its origin in a desire to contribute something towards ele- 
vating an important and rising profession. lis matter comprises the substance of a 
part of the course of lectures addressed to the classes of the Institution under my 
charge, during the past two years. Those lectures, unwritten at first, were de- 
livered in a familiar, colloquial style, — their main object being the inculcation of 
«uch practical views as would best promote the improvement of the teacher. In 
vv riting the matter out for the press, the same style, to considerable extent, has 
been retained, — as I have written with an aim at usefulness rather than rhetorical 
effect. 

If the term theory in the title suggests to any mind the bad sense sometimes con- 
ireyed by that word, I would simply say, that I have not been dealing in the 
speculative dreams of the closet, but in convictions derived from the realities of 
'.he schoolroom during some twenty years of actual service as a teacher. Theory 
may justly mean the science distinguished from the art of Teaching, — but as in 
practice these should never be divorced, so in the following chapters I have en 
leavored constantly to illustrate the one by the other. 



Barnard o.i School Architectiore, d'c. 



SCHOOL ARCHITECTURE 

OR, 

CONTRIBUTfOIVS TO THE IMPROVEMENT OF SCHOOL-HOUSES 

IN THE 

UNITEI> STATES. 

BY HENRY BARNARD, 

COMMISSlONfiR OF PUBLIC SCHOOLS IN RHODE ISLAND. 



OWT 

INTRODUCTION. 
Condition of School-houses in Massa- 
clmseUs, New York, Vermont, New- 
Hampshire, Connecticut, Maine, Rh. 
Island, Michigan. 

SCHOOL ARCHITECTURE. 
I. Common Errors to be avoided. 
11. General Principles to be ob- 
served. 
III. Plans of School-houses. 

1. Plans recommended by practi- 

cal Teachers. 

2. Plans and Description of School- 

houses recently erected. 



ENTS. 

3. Plans for School-houses, con 
taining Apartments for the 
Teacher. 
IV. Apparatus. 
V. Library. 
VI. Miscellaneous Suggestions. 

1. Plans of Ventilation and Warm- 

ing. 

2. School Furniture, Fixtures, &c. 

3. Regulations for the Use and 

Preservation of School-houses, 
Furniture, &c. 

4. Dedicatory Exercises. 

5. Priced Catalogue of Books on 

Education, Apparatus, Maps, 
&c. 



From the Vermont Chronicle. 

Mr. Barnard, when Secretary of the Board of Commissioners of Common Schools 
in Connecticut, devoted much time to School-houses, lectured upon the subiect, 
and published his views in the School Journal, which he then edited. Su.ce that 
dale, (1841,) his Essay has been repeatedly publislied, each time with atklitional 
plans and descriptions. Farts of it have been extensively copied, and its influence 
has been felt in all parts of the country. He has now enlarged it to a handsome 
volume, which is published in a style becoming its importance and excellence. Nc 
other writer on the subject is to be compared with Mr. Barnard for the fulness and 
variety of his materials, and the completeness of his work in regard to all the 
points that are to be considered in the building and furnishing of school-houses. 

Mr. Barnard does not confine himself to any one plan, but exhibits fully a great 
variety of excellent models for buildings, seats, desks, warming, ventilating, &.C., 
&:c., for rriinary Schools, High Schools, Normal Schools; with numerous cuts 
and descriptions of buildings and parts of buildings in use in places where most at- 
tention has been given to the subject. At the close we have nearly a hundred pages 
on school apparatus and library, care of school-houses, school-regulations, books 
on education, suggestions for improvement, &c. The whole book is replete with 
information, and we heartily recommend it as one that ought to be accessible in 
every school-district. No school-house should be built or altered without consult- 
ing it. 



Davie s' System of Mathematics. 



TO THE FRIENDS OF EDUCATION. 

The publishers of this series of mathematical works by Professor 
Charles Davies, beg leave respeclfully to ask of teachers and the 
friends of education a careful examination of these works. It is 
not their intention to commend, particularly, this Course of Math- 
ematics to public favor ; and especially, it is not their design to 
disparage other works on the same subjects. They wish simply 
to explain the leading features of this system of Text- Books — the 
place which each is intended to fill in a system of education — the 
general connection of the books with each other — and some of the 
advantages which result frorti the study of a uniform series of math- 
ematical works. 

It may, perhaps, not be out of place, first, to remark, that the 
author of this series, after graduating at the Military Academy, 
entered upon the duties of a permanent instructor in that institution 
in the year 1816, and was employed for tlie twenty following years 
in the departments of scientific instruction. At the expiration of 
that perio'^ he visited Europe, and had a full opportunity of com- 
paring the systems of scientific instruction, both in France and 
England, with that which had been previously adopted at the Mili- 
tary Academy. 

This series, combining all that is most valuable in the various 
methods of European instruction, improved and matured by the 
suggestions of more than thirty years' experience, now forms the 
only complete consecutive course of Mathematics. Its methods, 
harmonizing as the works of one mind, carry the student onward 
by the same analogies and the same laws of association, and are cal- 
culated to Impart a comprehensive knowledge of the science, com- 
bining clearness in the several branches, and unity and proportion 
in the whole. Being the system so long in use at West Point, and 
through which so many men, eminent for their scientific attain- 
ments, have passed, it may be justly regarded as our National 
System of Mathematics. Scholars and students who have pur- 
sued this course, will everywhere stand on the highest level with 
reference to the estimates which themselves and others will form 
of this part of their education. 

The series is divided into three parts, viz. : First — Arithmeti- 
cal Course for Schools. Second — Academical Course. Third 
'— Coi,LEGiATE Course. 



Davies' System of Mathematics. 



The Arithmetical Course for Schools. 

I. PRIMARY TABLE-BOOK. 
II. FIRST LESSONS IN ARITHMETIC. 
III. SCHOOL ARITHMETIC. (Key separate.) 



PRIMARY TABLE-BOOK. 

The leading feature of the plan of this vi ork is to teach the reading of figures 
that is, so to train the mind that it shall, by the aid of the eye alone, catch in 
otantly the idea which any combination of figures is intended to express. 

The method heretofore pursued has aimed only at presenting the combinations 
by means of our common language : this method proposes to present chem pure- 
ly through the arithmetical symbols, so that the pupil shall not be obliged to pause 
at every step and translate his conceptions into common language, and then re- 
transhiie them into the language of arithmetic. 

For example, when he sees two numbers, as 4 and 8, to be added, he shall not 
pause iind say, 4 and 8 are 12, but shall be so trained as to repeat 12 at once, as is 
always done by an experienced accountant. So, if the difference of these num- 
bers is to be found, he shall at once say 4, and not 4 from 8 leaves 4. If he de- 
sires their product, he will say 32 ; if their quotient, 2 : and the same in all simi- 
lar cases. 

FIRST LESSONS I xN ARITHMETIC. 

The First Lessons in Jirithmetic begirCwith counting, and advance step by step 
through all the simple combinations of numbers. In order that the pupil may be 
impressed with the fact that numbers express a coliectjdn of units, or things of 
the same kind, the unit, in the beginning, is representeefiby a star, and the child 
should be made to count the stars in all cases where they are used. Hawing once 
fixed in the mind a correct impression of numbers, it was deemed no longer 
necessary to represent the unit by a symbol ; and henr;e the use of the star was 
discontinued. In adding 1 to each number from 1 to 10, we have the first ten 
combinations in arithmetic. Then by adding 2 m the same way, we have the 
second ten combinations, and so on. Eacn ten combinations is arranged in a 
separate lesson, throughout the four ground rules, and each is illustrated either 
by unit marks or a simple example. Tims the four hundred elementary combi- 
nations are presented, in succession, in forty lessons, — a plan not adopted in any 
other elementary book. 

SCHOOL ARITHMETIC. 

This work begins with the simplest combination of numbers, and contains all 
that is supposed to be necessary for the average grade of classes in schools. It 
lS strictly scientific and entirely practical in its plan. Each idea is first presented 
to the mind either by an example or an illustration, and then the principle, or 
abstract idea, is stated in .general terms. Great care has been taken to attain 
simplicity and accuracy in the definitions and rules and at the same time so to 
frame them as to make them introductory to the higher branches of mathematical 
.science. No definition or rule is given until the m^nd of the pupiUias been 
brought to It by a series of simple inductions, so that mental training may begin 
with the first intellectual efforts in numbers 

4 



Davies^ System of Mathematics. 



The Academic Course. 

I. THE UNIVERSITY ARITHMETIC. (Key separate.) 
II. PRACTICAL GEOMETRY AND MENSURATION. 

III. ELEMENTARY ALGEBRA. (Key separate,) 

IV. ELEMENTARY GEOMETRY. 

V. DAVIES' ELEMENTS OF SURVEYING. 



Those who are conversant with the preparation of elementary 
taxt-hooks, have experienced the difficulty of adapting them to the 
wants which they are intended to supply. The institutions of in- 
struction are of all grades from the college to the district school, 
and although there is a wide difference between the extremes, the 
level in passing from one grade to the other is scarcely broken. 
Each of these classes of seminaries requires text-books adapted to 
its own peculiar wants ; and if each held its proper place in its 
own class, the task of supplying suitable text-books would not be 
so difficult. An indiflferent college is generally inferior, in the 
system andf scope of instruction, to a good academy or high-school ; 
wliile the district-school is often found to be superior to its neigh- 
boring academy. 

Although, therefore, the University Arithmetic and the Practical 
Geometry and Mensuration, have been classed among the books 
appropriate for academies, they may no doubt be often advantage- 
ously studied in the common-school ; so also with the Algebra and 
Elementary Geometry. The Practical Geometry and Mensura- 
tion, containing so much practical matter, can hardly fail to be a 
useful and profitable study. 

DAVIES' UNIVERSITY ARITHMETIC. 

The scholar in commencing this work, is supposed to be familiar with the oper 
atioiis in the four ground rules, which are fully taught both in the First Lessons 
and in the School Arithmetic. This being premised, the language of figures, 
which are the representatives of numbers, is carefully taught, and the different 
significations of which the figures are susceptible, depending on the places in 
whrch tliey are written, are fully explained. It is shown, for example, that the 
simple numbers in which the unit increases from right to left according to the 
.scale of teas, and the Denominate or Compound Numbers, in wluch it increases 
according to a different scale^ belong in fact to the same class of numbers, and 
that both may be treated under a common set of rules. Hence, the rules for No- 
tation, Addition, Subtraction, Multiplication, and Division, have been so con- 
structed as to apply equally to all numbers. This arrangement is a new one, and 
is deemed an essential improvement m the science of numbers 

1 a developing the properties of numbers, from their elementaiy to tlieir highest 
combuiations, great labor has been bestowed on classification and arrangement. 
It has been a leading object to present the entire subject of arithmetic as forming 

(5i 



Davics' System of Mathemaiics. 



a series of dependent and connected propositions ; so tliat the pupil, while ac- 
quiring useful and practical knowledge, may at the same time be introduced to 
tnose beautiful methods of exact reasonmg which science alone can teach. 

Great care has been taken to demonstrate fully all tlie rules, and to explain the 
reason of every process, from the most simple to the most difficult. The demon- 
stration of the rule for the division of fractions, on page 147, is new and consid- 
ered valuable. 

Tiie properties of the 9's, explained at page 93, and the demonstration of the 
our ground rules by means of those properties, are new in their present form, 
and are thought worthy of special attention. 

In the preparation of the work, another object has been kept constantly in 
view ; viz., to adapt it to the business wants of the country. For this purpose, 
mnrh pains iiave been bestowed in the preparation of the articles on Weights 
and Measures, foreign and domestic— on Banking, Bank Discount, Interest, Coins 
and Currency, Exchanges, Book-keeping, &c. In short, it is a full treatise on 
the subject of Arithmetic, combining the two characteristics of a scientific and 
practical work. 



Recommendation frum the Professors of the Mathematical Department of the 
United States Military Academy 
In the distinctness with which the various definitions are given— the clear and 
strictly mathematical demonstration of the rules— the convenient form and well- 
chosen mailer of the tables, as well as in the complete and much-desired appli- 
cation of all to the business of the country, tlie " University Arithmetic" of 
Prof. Davies is superior to any other work of the kind with which we are ac- 
quainted. These, with the many other improvements introuuced by the ad- 
mirable scientific arrangement and treatment of the whole subject, and in par- 
ticular those of the generalization of the four ground rules, so as to include 
" simple and denominate" numbers under the same head, and the very plain 
demonstration of the rule for the division of fractions — both of which are, to us, 
original — make the work an invaluable one to teachers and students who are de- 
sirous to teach or study arithmetic as a science as well as an art. 

'.Signed,) D. H. MAHAN, Prof. Engineering. 

W. H. C. BARTLETT, Prof. Nat. Phil. 
A. E. CHURCH, Prof. Mathematics. 
United States Military Academy, Jan. 18, 1847. 

PRACTICAL GEOMETRY AND MENSURATION. 

The design of this w^ork is to afford schools ana academies an Elementary 
Text-Book of a practical character. The introduction into our schools, within 
the last few years, of the subjects of Natural Philosophy, Astronomy, Mineralo- 
gy, Chemistry, and Drawing, has given rise to a higher grade of elementary 
studies ; and the extended application of the mechanic arts calls for additional 
information among practical men. In this work all the truths of Geometry are 
made accessible to the general reader, by omitting the demonstrations altogether, 
and relying for the impression of each particular truth on a pointed question and 
an illustration by a diagram. In this way it is believed that all the important 
properties of the geometrical figures may be learned in a few weeks ; and after 
these properties have been once applied, the mind receives a conviction of their 
truth little short of what is afforded by rigorous demonstration. The work is 
divided into seven books, and each book is subdivided into sections. 

In Book I., the properties of the geometrical figures are explained by questions 
and illustrations. 

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Dauies' System of Maikeinatics. 



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In Book II. are explained the construction and uses of the various scales; ano 
also the construction of geometrical figures. It is, as its title imports, Practicai 
Geometry. 

Book III. treats of Drawing. Section I., of the Elements of the Art ; Section 
II., of Topographical Drawing ; and Section III., of Plan Drawing. 

Book IV. treats of Architecture— explaining the different orders, both by de- 
scriptions and drawings. 

Book V. contains the application of the principles of Geometry to the Mensu- 
ration of Surfaces and Solids. A separate rule is given for each case, and the 
whole is illustrated by numerous and appropriate examples. 

Book VI. contains the application of the preceding Books to Artificers' and Me- 
chanics' work. It contains full explanations of all the scales — the uses to which 
they are applied — and specific rules for the calculations and computations which 
are necessary in practical operations. 

Book VII. is an introduction to Mechanics. It explains the nature and proper- 
ties of matter, the laws of motion and equilibrium, and the principles of all the 
simple machines. 

ELEMENTARY ALGEBRA. 

This work is intended to form a connecting link between Arithmetic and Alge 
bra, and to unite and blend, as far as possible, the reasoning on numbers with the 
more abstract method of analysis. It is intended to bring the subject of Algebrti 
within the range of our common- schools, by giving to it a practical and tangible 
form, it begins with an introduction, in which the subject is first treated men- 
tally, in order to accustom the mind of the pupil to the first processes ; after 
which, the system of mstruction assumes a practical form. The definitions and 
rules are as concise and simple as they can be made, and the reasonings are as 
clear and concise as the nature of the subject will admit. The strictest scientific 
methods are always adopted, for the double reason, that what is learned should 
be learned in the right way, and because the scientific methods are generally the 
most simple. 

ELEMENTARY GEOMETRY. 

This work is designed for those whose education extends beyond the acquisi 
tion of facts and practical knowledge, but who have not the time to go through 
a full course of mathematical studies. It is intended to present the striking and 
important truths of Geometry in a form more simple and concise than is adoptea 
in Legendre, and yet preserve the exactness of rigorous reasoning. In this sys- 
tem, nothing has been omitted in the chain of exact reasoning, nothing has been 
taken for granted, and nothing passed over without being fully demonstrated 
The work also contains the applications of Geometry to the Mensuration of Sur 
faces and Solids. 

SURVEYING. 

In this work it was the intention of the author to begin with the very elemems 
of the subject, and to combine those elements in the simplest manner, so as to 
render the higher branches of Plane Surveying comparatively easy. All the in- 
struments needed for plotting have been carefully described, and the uses of those 
required for the measurement of angles are fully explained. The Conventional 
Signs adopted by the Topographical Bureau, and which are now used by the United 
States Engineers in all their charts and maps, are given in full. An account is also 
given of the manner of surveying the public lands ; and although the method is sim- 
ple, it has nevertheless been productive of great results. The work also contains 
a Table of Logarithms— a Table of Logarithmic Sines— a Traverse Table, and a 
Table of Natural Sines— being all the Tables necessary for Practical Surveying 



Davies' System of Mathematics. 



The Collegiate Course. 

I. DAVIES' BOURDON S ALGEBRA. 
II. DAVIES' LEGENDRE'S GEOMETRY AND TRIGONOMETRY. 

III. DAVIES' ANALYTICAL GEOMETRY. 

IV. DAVIES' DESCRIPTIVE GEOMETRY. 

V. DAVIES' SHADES, SHADOWS, AND PERSPECTIVE. 
VI. DAVIES' DIFFERENTIAL AND INTEGRAL CALCULUS. 



The works embraced under the head of the " Collegiate Course," 
were originally prepared as text-books for the use of the Military 
Academy at West Point, where, with a single exception, they are 
still used. Since their introduction into many of the colleges of 
the country, they have been somewhat modified, so as to meet the 
wants of collegiate instruction. The general plan on which these 
works are written, was new at the time of their appearance. Its 
main feature was to unite the logic of the French School of 
Mathematics with the practical methods of the Entrlish, and the 
two methods are now harmoniously blended in most of our systems 
of scientific instruction. 

The introduction of these works into the colleges was for a 
long time much retarded, in consequence of the great deficiency in 
the courses of instruction in the primary schools and academies ; 
and this circumstance induced Professor Davies to prepare his 
Elementary Course. 

The series of works here presented, form a full and complete 
course of mathematical instruction, beginning with the first com- 
binations of arithmetic, and terminating in the higher applications 
of the Differential Calculus. Each part is adapted to all ilio 
others. The Definitions and Rules in the Arithmetic, have 
reference to those in the Elementary Algebra, and these to similar 
ones in the higher books. A pupil, therefore, who begins this 
course in the primary school, passes into the academy, and then 
into the college, under the very same system of scientific in- 
structton. 

The methods of teaching are all the same, varied only by the 
lature and difficulty of the subject. He advances steadily fronj 
jne grade of knowledge to another, seeing as he advances the con 
nection and mutual relation of all the parts : and when he reacnei 
the end of his course, he finds indeed, that " science is bat know 
ledge reduced to order." 

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